


Take Apart Your Bones and Put 'em Back Together

by die_traumerei



Series: The Bucky Barnes Blues [1]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Canon-Typical Violence, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Major Illness, Nightmares, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Original Character(s), Past Bucky Barnes/Natasha Romanov, Protective Steve Rogers, Recovery, SHIELD, Serious Injuries, Slow Burn, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Up all night to get Bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-23
Updated: 2016-08-05
Packaged: 2018-05-22 18:14:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 63,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6089695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/die_traumerei/pseuds/die_traumerei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It seems so simple: Bucky is captured by SHIELD and brought to a facility in upstate New York.</p><p>Of course, it isn't. No one knows who is going to wake up in that bed, and what that will eventually mean for Steve Rogers, SHIELD, the Avengers, or Bucky himself.</p><p>A story about a man putting himself back together despite what everyone expects of him. A story about Steve finding a measure of peace, a story about a broken-up institution. A story about three women who made a magical place where not just Bucky can heal.</p><p>A story featuring a load of OC's, BAMF Bucky Barnes, an older but not particularly wiser Steve Rogers, fallible Sam Wilson who is no less perfect for that, and, eventually, two nonagenarians gettin' it on in a world they pretty well transformed, between the two of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> How to celebrate my last day at a pain in the ass job? Sit down and let the words pour out of me, I guess.
> 
> I'd had the idea for this story for awhile but 1) the time has come, and I think I can do it justice and 2) I want to at least start the damn thing and get it underway before Civil War hits and we all lose our damn minds, me included.
> 
> Bucky's story of figuring himself out, of becoming a whole person again, is unbelievably important to me. I think it might have taken this long to write this because it is such a personal story. There's romance in this, but it's a way's away; he and Steve both have to figure themselves, and each other, out first. There will be plenty of kissing later on though, I promise.
> 
> Please note that Bucky is seriously injured and ill in the first part of the story, and he's not always treated very nicely. 
> 
> I'm really excited to see what you guys think of this -- it's something of a departure for me, in both style and topic.
> 
> I don't have a set schedule for updating, but I've got the first few chapters written, and it looks like they'll tend to be short, so expect approximately one update a week, or every few days, though of course that may vary...
> 
> (PS: If you're wondering if the first lines are from Waiting for Godot, you're right.)

A country road. A tree.

Evening.

“We've got him.”

Agent William Brady checked again, peering through binoculars, but the body on the ground wasn't moving. There was no way God loved him enough to kill the thing in his sights, but it was pretty well knocked out, it looked like.

He carefully did not consider how it had been possible to sneak up on the deadliest assassin known to history. The Winter Soldier had a weakness, and they exploited it. That's what they _did_. He owed his team a helluva round of drinks.

Agent Dougherty was all but invisible, crawling through the low, scrubby brush. France was supposed to be attractive, but apparently that was other parts of the country.

Dougherty was almost there.

Brady signaled to Benson to keep the Soldier in her sights. Cap's best friend or not (Cap's continuing loyalty or not), he'd put it down in an instant.

Dougherty was close now, handgun drawn.

The Soldier lay still, the tranq dart still barely visible in his neck, mostly by the trickle of dark blood there.

“He's out,” Dougherty's voice was low over the comms. “No pupillary response.” A pause. “Laboured breathing. Think he's...sick?”

“They don't get sick, Cap says,” Benson offered.

“This one does,” Brady snapped. “Cuff him.”

Dougherty closed the Stark-designed cuffs around the Soldier's forearms, locking them behind him. They were designed to short the metal arm – indeed, it glowed blue for a moment (Brady flinched, and hoped no one noticed), but then nothing.

He stood up and slowly walked closer, firearm still drawn, while Dougherty cuffed the Soldier's legs, and muzzled him.

“Hey, I don't think he's doing too good,” Dougherty offered.

“Is it alive?” Brady asked. The creature on the ground didn't get a pronoun; he wasn't a _he_ after Hydra had controlled him for the better part of a century, dammit.

“...yes,” Dougherty said. “Sick, though. I think.”

“There are doctors at SHIELD headquarters.” Brady knelt down and rolled the Soldier over. 

Its face was skeletal, bruises dark under his eyes. Its hair was lank, dull, and filthy.

It did not smell like Brady wanted things he was about to spend nine hours  fucking hours  flying with smelled. 

“Get it onto the travois, our pickup'll be arriving soon, and we've got to get to the rendezvous point,” he finally said, deciding that they'd be safe traveling with it. The tranq dart would have brought Cap down for a full day and night; whatever shitty version of the serum this one had gotten might keep him knocked out even longer. Brady was entirely okay with that. Unconscious, it couldn't kill more SHIELD agents.

Probably. 

He had them lock it to the plane itself, for the flight back.

 

_At About The Same Time:  
_

Steve had worked out a  jogging route in ever major city in the US, and most of them in the world. Cardiff was one of the nicest, he decided, picking up the Taff Trail just as the mist was lifting from the river. It was still dark enough in the mornings that all the dogs wore blinking lights; it was like the world's cutest disco, and he  _loved_ it. He even got to play a little with a particularly handsome Golden Lab who believed in catching balls, and plenty of it.

The mist was burning off as he hit Llandaff Cathedral, just visible across the river. The morning commuters whipped past him on their bikes, and he left Cardiff behind, following the trail north, following the river, full from the recent rains. The forest around him was thick and lush in the dead of summer, the constant rain and humidity making it feel almost jungle-like. It was actually going to be a dry day, though, and the sun rose to reveal a glorious sky. 

Steve followed the trail away from the river, through the little suburb and past the Melyngriffith  w ater pump. Then the river again, dark and green and lovely in the daylight. There were fewer commuters on this section of the trail, and he followed it, turning away from the river again to go through Tongwynlais, then through the cliffs that had once been quarries.

He turned around in Taff's Well and headed back to Cardiff, where Sam was waiting for him. They had a good trail now, they were close. Steve wondered if Bucky was playing with them; had started to wonder that six months ago when the clues became a little too deliberate.

Bright sun, cool forest, clear path. There was no way they wouldn't find Bucky soon, and the bastard'd probably be laughing at them. He was...not Bucky. Not the boy Steve had known, but then neither was Steve. But he was remembering, that was obvious. Memory combined with skill; that's what they had found in a trail across the globe.

Sam had called it Bucky's Revenge Tour, but...there hadn't been much bloodshed, to be honest. Property destruction aplenty, and from what he'd seen Steve was entirely okay with burning such things from the memory of the world. (The tank. The tank had been the worst, with the connections in it.  With the  _photos_ . Bucky had been kept in there. Steve had finished the job, on that one.) Most of the people of Hydra had been found, or were being found by  SHIELD agents doing good work. Steve had been cautiously  willing to collaborate with them, here and there, and found a people determined to burn Hydra out of them. He still wasn't sure about things – for fuck's sake, Project Insight hadn't been  entirely  Hydra – but for occasional collaborators...well, he would see. 

The woods gave way again to open paths, and he turned off the trail just before the cricket stadium, to go back to the B&B where he and Sam had taken rooms. Steve showered quickly, washing off sixteen miles of mud, dog and sweat, and had just gotten dressed, more than ready for the Breakfast part of  whole B&B thing , when Sam knocked on his door.

“I'm _comin'_ , Jeez, some of us take care of ourselves,” he complained, unlocking the door.

Sam did not look like he was going to rib Steve about running late.

“What is it?”

“They made contact, and brought him home.”

“ _Who?”_ Steve demanded, voice stretched, doing funny things. By God, if Hydra had found Bucky again, he would burn the world.

“SHIELD agents. Bucky's with SHIELD, now.”

Steve's mother had taught him that, whenever he didn't know how he felt about something, to flip a coin. Whatever side he hoped the coin would fall on when it came down – that was what he wanted.

The fact that Steve did not feel relief at hearing this – well. That showed what he really thought about SHIELD, he reckoned.

“Where is he?”

“New York.” Sam smiled without feeling. “Upstate. Some facility near the Berkshires.”

“How soon –?”

“Stark already found us a plane. Pack up, the taxi'll be here in ten minutes.”

Steve had packed up that morning, and was ready in five. Bucky was  _home_ .  He was in New York, he was safe from Hydra (although that wasn't the same thing as  _safe_ ), Steve could see him. Within twenty-four hours, they would be in the same room again.

The brilliant blue skies were perfect. The day was perfect. Steve was going home, and Bucky was there, and everything was okay now.  Nothing else mattered.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the by, the story title is from the White Stripes' St. James Infirmary Blues.

“Of course you can see him,” the woman behind the desk said, smiling at Steve. “You're to be granted full access, of course, around the clock. Though we do ask that you wait another fifteen minutes. Mr. Barnes is being examined by his doctor, and it does imply some privacy.”

“Of course! Of course,” Steve said, trying not to babble. He smiled at her. He'd been smiling at everyone. Sam thought it was the most adorable thing ever, and had kept taking pictures of Steve. He posted the one without Steve giving him the finger on Instagram, and sent the others to Nat, Tony and Bruce.

Nat had sent back a picture of her gagging. Tony had filmed DUM-E making fart noises. Bruce, who was Steve's  _real_ new best friend, not any of these assholes, had sent a text congratulating him warmly.

There hadn't been much intel from SHIELD, but Steve wasn't exactly shocked at that, now that he wasn't their poster boy. But Bucky had gone with them, or so it sounded, so Steve was willing to behave.

He behaved now, chatting a little more with the receptionist, then sitting down. They were in a rather nice building upstate; some converted mansion. There were gardens. There was a vegetable garden in front of the east wing. Bucky would  _love_ it here.

Steve sat down next to Sam, and tried not to vibrate from impatience. It had been months; he could wait a few more minutes. Bucky deserved his privacy, and Steve was quietly pleased to find that even he was barred during times like these. It meant Bucky was being treated right.

 

“Jesus Christ and all the saints.” Agent Sarah McGarrity put her head in her hands. This was supposed to be an _easy_ posting. She had a vegetable garden! She had a huge plot of just lavender. It was exquisite on summer evenings.

She was not supposed to get dying assassins. Whose retrieval had been royally fucked up by a sociopath who kept calling him an  _it_ .

“You never know, they might actually be able to help,” Dr. Van Nuys suggested, crossing her arms and regarding her newest patient. “Fuck me twice, Sare, we're _screwed_.”

“Maybe I could pretend to be growing pot, and get put in prison forever?” McGarrity mused aloud. 

“That only works if you're black and male,” Van Nuys pointed out. “Have you thought about opium poppies?”

McGarrity pressed her thumbs into her eyes. “If by that you mean heroin, than yes. If I gotta go, I'm gonna go happy.” She sighed, and glared at the Winter Soldier. “Right, what are we dealing with?”

“Severe malnutrition, with all the expected co-morbidities,” Van Nuys said. And, okay, the man on the table looked like a famine victim. McGarrity had worked in Eritrea, before going into Shield. She carefully decided that she would not pity the Soldier. Not until she figured out who the fuck he _was_. “Multiple injuries that have only partially healed. I expect that once he's got calories to spare, his healing factor will kick in.”

“Oh, hooray.”

“Sarah, be neutral at least, he _is_ my patient,” Van Nuys said, sounding annoyed. “He's got pneumonia too, which isn't helping matters.” She sighed. “That's the physical.”

“And the mental?”

“We won't know until he wakes up. Preliminary scans show brain damage though, although whether that's from the cryo tanks he went through or, you know, falling out of a helicarrier or for that matter experimentation – we just can't _tell_. Not yet.”

“What about that arm? Is it safe?”

“Considering that Asswipe McSuckMyDick's little toy seems to have permanently shorted it, it's currently a very detailed paperweight.” Van Nuys made a note on her StarkPad. “Look, we'll know more in the coming days. Right now, if he was anyone else, I'd recommend palliative care and be calling a funeral home to make plans. But this guy...his body won't let him die, even if it eats itself alive. We're giving him fluids and nutrients, we can tackle the pneumonia and support the physical injuries, but there's a lot we can't know just yet.”

“Of course not.” McGarrity rubbed her forehead. “Thanks, Lisle. Honest, you're the best. Keep me posted?”

“Hourly updates, if not more,” Van Nuys promised. “How's your end of things?”

“Tati is charming the _shit_ out of Captain America, God bless and keep her. She's also rejigged my schedule, given me every weekend this month off, and I think she got us a fifty percent discount on our latest Staples order. I'm gonna make her play receptionist every day.” 

“You know you've gotta let him in here eventually.”

“I know.” McGarrity gave her friend a pleading look. “I _really_ don't want an upset Cap on my hands.”

“Honey, his best friend looks like a skeleton and you can hear his breathing from the next room. You better plan on dealing with a heartbroken Captain America. And no, you're not allowed to resign.”

“Yeah I _am_.” 

The two women smiled wryly at each other.

“Buy me another hour, I'll wash his hair, get him looking cared-for at least,” Van Nuys offered.

“Because he is.” McGarrity smiled grimly. “We're fucking well going to keep this man alive. I want to find out who exactly it is we've managed to capture. And for God's sake, keep him chained to the bed. Just hide it better.”

Van Nuys exhaled noisily.

“I trust him as far as I can throw him.” She paused, and considered the pathetic figure before her. “Actually, not even that far.”

“Sarah, I get your caution, but get the fuck out and let me work,” Van Nuys said. “I am not letting Steve Rogers see us chain his best friend to a hospital bed.” She paused. “Even if he was awake, I don't think he could stand right now,” she added softly.

“Whatever. When he kills you, don't come crying to me.”

“I'll only haunt you on alternate Tuesdays,” Van Nuys said absently, setting her StarkPad aside and folding the sheets back.

Fuck, he was emaciated. McGarrity turned and left, already planning which home-baked cookies she would bring Captain Rogers to distract him with until he could be let in to see the Soldier.

“Oh, honey. The trouble you're gonna give us,” Lisle Van Nuys murmured. Jesus, he was a _baby_. He was twenty-six when he'd fallen off that train, poor boy.

“Right, time to pretty you up,” she said, and stroked his hair. Injuries that needed support first, then a sponge bath, and washing his hair. That would help a lot. She desperately hoped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Your comments give me life.
> 
> Next chapter to go up soon -- probably Sunday at the latest.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A meeting where much is discussed; Steve gets into the same room as Bucky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and commenting! I'm super in love with this story, and also with breaking your collective hearts, so.

“Captain Rogers! Commander Wilson. Thank you so much for waiting. Agent Sarah McGarrity, supervisor here.” She smiled and held out her hand, shaking both men's in turn.

Fucking  _fuck_ , Steve Rogers looked like the fluffiest Golden Retriever ever. And someone had just told him that there was a ball  _just for him_ , and he could catch it forever.

She would resign, except like half her potential replacements had literal shit for brains, so she smiled as hard as she could, and offered them both coffee.

“Thank you ma'am, but Tatiana took care of us just fine,” Captain Rogers said politely. “I'm sorry to be a bother, but can I see Bucky?”

She was going to kill herself. She had to break it to the nicest man in the world that his best friend was currently dying in  _her_ state-of-the-art hospital room. Also that he might still be a deadly assassin. (Well, he almost certainly was that. Whether he remembered how to be Bucky Barnes too was yet to be determined.)

“I'm so sorry for the delay.”

Motherfuck, this man had put a plane down into the ice to save her grandparents. Fuck all of the things.

She sighed, and smiled, and let the wear show. “Come and sit with me someplace more comfortable. I promise you'll see Sergeant Barnes within the hour, I just...want to talk to you first.”

Steve looked worried. She had a worried Golden Retriever puppy on her hands.

She looked at Commander Wilson, and prayed he was psychic.

He probably was, because he put his Therapist Smile on, and rested his hand on Steve's shoulder.

Possibly Sarah would survive the day.

She led the two men into a sunny parlor. There was no other word for it. French doors opened onto the back gardens, and there was tasteful, understated furniture to sit on. She didn't bother to offer them anything; neither of them would eat.

“Sergeant Barnes was taken into custody at 0945 GMT this morning,” she said bluntly. “He was...found. In France.”

“We were so close,” Steve breathed. Sam just nodded.

“He was flown back to the States immediately, and transferred here.” She smiled a little. “We are a place for people who need to recover. That is all. It's very...restful, here.”

“And you've got a state-of-the-art medical facility here, too,” Commander Wilson helpfully supplied.

“I see you're familiar with us.”

“You have a whole page on the Shield intranet,” he said brightly.

She was going to poison his goddamn coffee.

Fuck, fuck, gallows humor wasn't going to get her through this. “Sergeant Barnes was found near death,” she said bluntly. “He has multiple injuries, is severely malnourished, and has a serious case of pneumonia. We are treating all of these but...he's not going to look like the man you remember.”

“I know _that_ ,” Steve said, voice angry and raw.

“ _No_ ,” she replied. “Not even from the helicarrier. I want to prepare you, Captain. He's extremely unwell, and I just...want you prepared. I believe my colleagues may have led you to believe otherwise.”

“No,” Steve said slowly, tasting the word. “They didn't. They just...implied. I filled in the rest.”

“I can promise you that your friend is safe here,” she said, a little impulsively. “I can promise you that he is getting the best of care. And that he will heal. I can't...I can't promise you who he will be when he wakes up, though,” she said gently.

“I know. I just...I want him to wake up. That's all. We'll deal with more when it comes,” Steve said. “I want to see him, ma'am. Now.”

“Give my colleague another forty minutes to take care of some things, please?” she asked. And then, guessing that the captain would see through anything but the truth. “She's making him comfortable, I promise. She's...washing him.”

Steve's eyes softened. “That's all?”

“And tending to some of his injuries,” she admitted. “There's not enough...his healing factor isn't really kicking in. She's making him comfortable, making sure he can heal right, when his body is ready. And she wanted to wash his hair. Give him a bath.”

Steve looked like he was going to cry. “She's his doctor?”

“Yes. The best I've ever known.”

Now Commander Wilson looked near tears. “Just a little longer, Steve,” he said.

“We'll teach you,” Sarah said impulsively. She was starting to get why people had followed this man into battle. “We'll teach you how to...how to take care of him. You can help.” She smiled at him, and this time when he smiled back, it was sad. She wondered when sad smiles had become natural for him. “If you want.”

“I would like that very much,” Steve said. “Thank you.”

 

Steve fidgeted just a little as they waited outside the door. Sarah had gone ahead to check that everything was ready for them, and he was trying not to meditate on the fact that he was going to see Bucky for the first time in months. He couldn't help but meditate on the fact that Bucky...was not in good shape.

A middle-aged woman with dark hair streaked with grey tied up in a bun came through the door. She smiled and held out her hand. “Dr. Lisle Van Nuys. Pleased to meet you both. Come in.”

Steve shook her hand and slipped through the door and remembered to breathe calmly. Sam's quiet gasp beside him wasn't helping things, though.

It didn't look like a hospital room at all. That was the first thing. It was clean, plain, a tiled floor and some simple furniture at one end. A fancy-looking hospital bed at the other. A wall of windows, huge and beautiful. They looked out onto a lake.

And Bucky, in the bed. Bucky far, far too thin. He wore a neck brace, and there was a fresh-looking cast around his right leg, from toes to mid-thigh, the limb carefully elevated. His right arm was in a sling and no. No, that wasn't Steve's doing, his shoulder still unhealed, all these months later? That couldn't be.

Steve slowly walked closer. There were dark bruises under Bucky's eyes, and a thin tube running under his nose supplied oxygen. There were IV lines disappearing into the sling, presumably in his flesh arm.

Steve distantly noticed that his left arm lay still. They hadn't bothered to restrain it – that's how far gone Bucky was.

“Hey,” he said softly, and reached out, and rested his hand on the top of Bucky's head. His hair was soft, still a little damp, and had been brushed smooth and shining. “Hi, Buck. It's me. I'm here.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dietraumerei.tumblr.com, where I have recently learned that I love writing heart-wrenching ficlets.
> 
> I still don't have a firm update schedule for this story, but I'm vaguely planning on 2-3 chapters a week. I've written a good bit ahead, so there shouldn't be any long breaks, at least.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the futility of talking to the unconscious - the care and personality of super-soldiers - a sleeping man dreams - a threat is made

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy! I know the chapters are really short, but that seems to be how the story beats are going. I should be able to update every few days, hopefully to make up for it!

Of course, he didn't respond. He was unconscious, Steve was so  _dumb_ . But maybe he'd know Steve was there...somehow.

“I know you're not feeling so good,” he murmured. “But you're finally getting help. I promise. It's...it's weird, here,” he admitted. “But you're safe. I'll keep you safe.” He leaned over and kissed Bucky's forehead. He smelled like soap, and not at all like sickness or blood. “You can get better here. Promise.”

 

He didn't cry  then, with everyone around .  Dr. Van Nuys gently explained Bucky's injuries – a broken  _neck_ , dear God, only partly-healed, a miracle he hadn't damaged his spinal cord. Same with his leg – a break that just needed to heal, but Bucky had been running on it, it wasn't good, it would take time. Deep gashes on his torso, his arm – that was why the sling, his shoulder was fine. Bruises everywhere, cuts all over, but those would heal first. Pneumonia, but they were treating that. Brain damage – only time would tell. The doctor was honest, but kind, and Steve...didn't trust her. But he  _could_ .

Sam had asked questions while Steve held Bucky's hand and tried to follow them. Steve had squeezed the metal fingers and promised he would be back soon. He was allowed to stay with Bucky for as long as he wanted, whenever he wanted. They'd bring a bed in, if he liked.

Steve quietly asked for a room of his own and was given one, just across the hall from Sam. He carried his bags in, and thanked Tatiana, and carefully lay down, and sobbed his fucking heart out.

 

In his own room – tasteful, beautiful, comfortable, what version of Shield  _was_ this? – Sam also lay down, and carefully breathed. Four in, hold for four, seven out. And again. And again.

The man in the bed had looked pathetic. Neither Bucky Barnes nor the Winter Soldier should have looked like that. Not the vibrant boy from Steve's stories, and not the deadly killer Sam had met. Bucky Barnes was  _cool_ , he was fucking hardcore, he was a badass. That had been Sam's major takeaway. And now he was dying on a bed.

It was totally wrong, is what it was. Sam wouldn't stop feeling itchy until either Bucky Barnes woke up and hit on his very attractive doctor (and then possibly on Steve, because Sam Wilson had Suspicions), or the Winter Soldier came to and tried to kill them all in their beds. And he'd be pretty damn happy fighting him off, because even that was a spark of Bucky Barnes, the cocky kid of dozens of adventure stories Steve had told him.

He  _had_ to wake up. And Sam prayed, genuinely prayed, that it would be the cool kid, the charmer, the Bucky that Steve remembered, who woke up. The universe owed Steve this, at least. Hell, the universe owed Bucky Barnes that. To be himself again.

 

James Barnes lay in his bed in the last light of a summer evening, and was not aware of anything.

His body was working hard, though. First and most important was to burn off the drugs that suffused it. They were insidious, and there was so  _much_ of it. Calories came in, though, huge numbers of calories, fueling metabolism. Medication kept his temperature normal, but otherwise his body raged, a forest fire, exceptional force.

There. There, now his body was clear and cool, like a stream. Water running in, saline through an IV. His cells, every part of him, hydrated now.

He started to dream about swimming in a warm green sea.

His body stopped eating itself alive. Muscle tissue was no longer being consumed. It was a good beginning on a very long path.

 

James Barnes' body lay in a bed. It had been shackled, dragged across rough terrain, thrown into a corner. It had been lifted by someone who remembered that he had been someone's son. It had been tended, the hurts bandaged. It had been washed, made soft and clean. It had, disobeying direct orders, not been chained to a bed. It lay very still, but it healed, bit by bit.

And, in dreams, James drifted through water, buoyed up, floated without trying. It was warm and salty water, green and surrounded by growing things, and he rested, and let it carry him where it would.

 

“Well?” Lisle sipped from her glass. Water, not wine – not while she had a patient.

“I'm going to kill Agent McSuckMyDick,” Sarah announced, and took a swig of her beer.

Tati snickered, and sipped from her drink. “No less than he deserves.”

Sarah shook her head. “Honestly, the man's a sociopath. Whoever's lying in there, he deserves to be treated fairly at least.” She bit her lip. “Even if he's completely the Winter Soldier...that's not  _his_ fault.”

“You think?” Tati asked.

“I know. I read his file,” Lisle confirmed. “Shit was done to that man. He was a sniper, and a good one, but he wasn't some blank killer. He was a _person_. And I'll bet you the first ear of sweetcorn that he's still a person.”

“And I'll bet you the first blackberries that he's not Bucky Barnes anymore,” Tati countered. “Nor is he the Soldier. He's someone new.”

“And that's gonna break Steve Rogers' heart,” Sarah observed. “Well. What a summer we're going to have, ladies.”

“Oh, I think it'll surprise us,” Tati said thoughtfully.

Before she went to bed, she checked in on the person in the bed. Still deeply asleep, as expected. Poor boy; he looked so broken, lying there.

Tati patted his hand. “Don't worry,” she said. “I'll kill anyone who tries to hurt you. We all will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and commenting!
> 
> dietraumerei.tumblr.com


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Captain Rogers slumbers - Sam is a good bro - on talking to those who cannot hear - and on bitching one's superiors - a sponge bath is given

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm playing around with that kind of Victorian-ish Three Men in a Boat-style summary of each chapter. Please bear with me while I find the right voice :)

Steve didn't expect to sleep that night. He had thought about going to Bucky's room  to stay – had gone to say goodnight in fact. But he mostly felt awkward in there; would Bucky  _want_ him to spend the night? Would Bucky even want to be touched?  If he was awake, would he have made a face and pulled away when Steve kissed his forehead? Maybe. Maybe not. Steve shouldn't...he shouldn't tempt himself, until he knew.

So he slipped into the beautiful room and said goodnight and didn't touch Bucky like every cell in his body ached to do. Instead Steve went to bed, and slept for a solid nine hours, much to his surprise and Sam's very vocal approval.

“Look, it's not that you don't help, but...”

“But I don't help,” Steve said wryly, over breakfast. “I don't think I would trust myself to touch him right now, to be honest. He's so...”

“Yeah,” Sam said softly. “He is. He doesn't seem like the same guy you told me about.”

“He isn't,” Steve said slowly. “He can't be.” He smiled weakly. “He looks like the people in the camps.”

Sam set his spoon down. He was eating breakfast with a man younger than himself, who had helped liberate a concentration camp.

He was going to ask Tati where her store of bourbon was  _as soon as possible_ .

“Sorry,” Steve added, and Sam shook his head.

“Don't. God, you gotta talk this stuff out, Steve.”

“Does that help? Really?”

Sam shrugged. “Yeah. Not always, and not right away, but yeah. It does.” He smiled, and started eating again. “Look, let's take this one day at a time, all right? Barnes will probably take awhile to wake up, and we'll have a better idea of what's going on physically by then. I'd recommend learning what you can do to help take care of him, and spending the rest of the time working in the garden, exploring the grounds, and taking a lot of naps.”

“That's your professional advice?” Steve asked dryly.

“Professional and personal. Myself, I'm big on the naps.” And then, more quietly. “Sleep when you can. You know that, soldier.”

Steve nodded, and pointedly turned his attention to breakfast. “What do you think he'll be like?” he asked the grapefruit.

“I don't know,” Sam said, answering for the inanimate foodstuff. “I hope he's your friend, I really do Steve. But he's been brain-damaged and treated pretty horribly for a very long time. He's been programmed, then broke his own programming. There's no way to predict who's going to wake up.”

“I'm here for him, no matter what,” Steve quietly vowed. “He's not a weapon anymore. He's a person, and I want to meet him.”

Sam decided that the terrifying thing was, Steve meant all of this.

 

“Good morning, James,” Lisle said, checking the readouts from the course of the night. She had specifically designed the monitoring systems to be discreet; it was hard to tell that the boy in the bed was hooked up to anything at all. “How are you doing? Oooh, much better on the whole horse tranquilizer keeping you in a coma thing, very well done.” She paused a moment to daydream about punching Brady in the nuts, then returned to her patient.

Still no sign of responsiveness, but his vitals were good, and she fancied his breathing was improving too. “You're doing great, sweetheart. Just keep healing for us, okay? Let's get that super-soldier factor kicking in, and you'll feel so much better.” She patted his shoulder and adjusted the light blanket, making sure he was warm enough.

Lisle made a few more notes, and drew a vial of blood for that day's tests. “Sorry, Sergeant, I've gotta do this every day. I promise the samples are incinerated after I'm done. You're fighting hard, aren't you? Good boy, keep doing that.”

Another note, and she smiled down at the papers. “Steve, you can come in.”

“You talk to him?” Steve had been leaning against the doorframe – silently, or so he thought.

“Mmm. I talk to all my patients. Figure if they can hear me, it helps 'em feel less alone. If they can't, what does it hurt?” She looked up and smiled at him. “I don't know if he can hear us, I'm afraid. But it won't hurt anything, if you talk to him.”

Steve sat down by the bed and reached out, then hesitated. “I want...want to take his hand. But I don't know if he'd want me to, you know?”

“I know,” she said gently. “Some things we can't guess for other people. If it was before...would he be all right with you touching him?”

“He'd come to just to bitch me out about not climbing in there with him and becoming his own personal pillow,” Steve said wryly, and smiled when Lisle didn't react at all. “Bucky and I don't really have boundaries with each other.”

“Good to know.” Lisle adjusted a few things, and upped the flow of nutrients into Bucky. He was burning through an astonishing number of calories – good. “I can't tell you what to do, Steve, you know him best. Follow what you think is right.”

Steve reached out, hesitantly, and rested his hand on metal fingers, just for a moment, then pulled his hand back. “I'll wait on you, Buck,” he said quietly. “Your call.”

Lisle pretended she had something to take care of so that Captain America wouldn't have to watch her bury her face in a pillow and scream.

 

James was buoyed up by the warm water; he couldn't sink if he tried. It was so nice here – no ice, no cryo, no wars. Just green things and peace. He hoped he could stay a long time.

 

“No, you can't have access to him,” Sarah was saying when Tati wandered in. She made a wanking motion, and Tati muffled her giggles. “Well for starters, _your_ fucking task force practically killed him, which I did _not_ explicitly tell Captain America so you're goddamn welcome. He can't consent, and he's in extremely serious condition on top of that.”

A pause.

“ _Yes I do need his consent_ ,” she snapped. “He is a human being, and you can tell Brady I said that myself. We are not _animals_ , sir, and he will be treated fairly and with dignity. You know how I run my patch.”

Another pause.

“Sir, this is not a topic for discussion. I am _telling you_ that no one will be permitted access to Sergeant Barnes until, at the very least, he is conscious. And if he isn't able to grant consent then, you can hash it out with Captain Rogers, who is both his CO and effectively his next of kin.”

A  _very_ short pause.

“Fuck you, he _is_ a person,” she snapped, and slammed the phone down. “For the fuck of shit, how did this whole thing not collapse ten minutes after Peggy Carter retired?”

“Hydra?” Tati offered, and smirked at the glare this earned her. “Who was being a dickbag?”

“Who do you think?” Sarah said sourly. “I don't care who that man is, extrajudicial anything is not going to happen under my roof.”

“Didn't you want to cuff him to the bed?”

“I still want to cuff him to the bed. We don't know who all's in there, and I aim to protect _everyone_ here, although it looks like his ass is at the top of the list.” Sarah ran her hand through her short hair, making it stand up on end. “Cuffing him to the bed and turning him over to a load of scientists are two different things.”

Tati shrugged. “Whatever. How's he doing today, anyway?”

“Better. He's still critical, but not mostly dead. Lisle's starting to find signs of the healing factor kicking in.”

“Wonder how that'll help with PT? Or hinder?” Tati mused. “Does his body know what point to heal _to?”_

“Steve Rogers' serum works to effectively reset his body – so even if, say, he had an injury that wasn't treated, it would heal back to perfection,” Sarah said distractedly. Another e-mail, asking for a blood sample this time. Thank heavens Lisle was sensible enough to burn the stuff when she was done with it.

“Good. I'll check him over, but he'll probably be okay without me, then.”

“At least for now,” Sarah agreed, and looked up and smiled. “Check on him. And teach Steve how to help with his care, okay? The guy needs something to feel useful.”

 

“Morning, Cap,” Tati said, knocking on the doorframe. “Mind if I join you two?”

“Uh, no, no of course not.” Steve looked a little startled, but smiled politely. “I was just...sitting. here.”

Tati bounced over and grinned at him, her heart sinking when he barely smiled back. Oh, poor thing. She turned the charm down a little, just to keep from overwhelming him. “It's a little too early to start physical therapy, but I wanted to get a look at how he's doing is all. And I'll teach you what you can do right now, to help take care of him. If you want?”

Steve was startled into a smile. “I'd like that very much.” He paused. “You're...not a receptionist, are you?”

“Sometimes I am.” Tati tied her curly brown hair back, and held out her hand. “Tatiana Cohen, at your service. I'm a trained physical therapist, and I'll be working with Bucky once he's ready for that.” She tried another smile. “I also do a lot of our inventory, so if there's something you want for the kitchen, or whatever, just let me know.”

And ah, there. There, she got a smile. “I'm not much of a cook, but Sam'll probably have a shopping list for you.”

“Awesome. Okay, let's take a look.” She made a clucking sound with her tongue, just looking at Bucky. “Oh, poor thing. Let me see what I'll be working with.” She pulled the laptop from under Bucky's bed, quickly accessing his file. “Hmm. Wow. Okay.” Tati looked up at Steve. “That healing factor's pretty sweet.”

“It...is, actually.” Steve smiled. “How's he doing?”

“A lot better already. He's hydrated of course, and it looks like Lisle's planning to put in a GI tube in a bit, get him off IV-only nutrients. That's huge, by the way. Pneumonia isn't anything to take lightly, but he's responding well to treatment. The fractures in his leg and neck haven't started to heal yet, but to be honest, they can wait.” She looked up and blinked. “Does the healing factor have a sense of priority, then?”

“I don't know,” Steve admitted. “It mostly just...works. All at once.”

Tati grinned at him. “Yeah, but you're starting from a pretty healthy place. And you weren't given identical treatments or anything.” She cocked her head to one side. “What's your blood type?”

“O-negative. Bucky's O-positive, for the record.” Steve swallowed hard. “If you need me to donate blood for him, I will. Anything.”

Tati started to construct some metaphor about Steve donating his heart if he had to, but it fell apart in the truth of the way he looked at Bucky. “I don't think that's needed, but it's good to know,” she said, and typed in a few notes. “Honestly, Steve, he's doing great, all things considered. He's fighting back, hard.”

“That's Bucky,” Steve said, and finally relaxed in his chair.

She checked on a few more things, then stood up and folded the blanket down to Bucky's waist. It was a warm summer day; more than warm enough for the light hospital gown they had dressed Bucky in.

Tati made a mental note to order some clothes for him. Just a few shirts, some shorts that would fit over the cast. Soft things; comfortable clothes so he could get by until he was able to order his own stuff.

“Okay, I'm gonna teach you how to give him a sponge bath.” She reached over and touched the back of Steve's wrist. “This can be rough,” Tati said quietly. “Sometimes it's so hard to see loved ones looking different, and it can be scary working around their injuries. You can always – _always_ – ask me or Lisle to do this, or help you with this, and I promise we will, no questions asked and no judgement given.”

Steve nodded. “I appreciate that, miss. But there's not a force in the universe that'll make me afraid of Bucky.”

“Yes, Captain,” Tati said, and set about walking him through the careful actions; through the less dignified parts and then what she thought of as the fun bit, when she taught Steve how to hold Bucky up and brush his hair at the same time.

“It's gone straight,” Steve said, and stroked the long, dark locks. “I guess 'cause it's so long.”

“Mmm.” Tati made a few more notes, and looked up at Steve. “Hey,” she said softly. “Has anyone talked with you about possible brain damage?”

“Well, Miss, I know I jump out of planes pretty regularly but I promise I try not to land on my head,” Steve said, straight-faced.

Tati's jaw dropped.

“Did I just get _sassed_ by a guy whose picture was in my history textbook? I drew _hearts_ around your face!” she yelped.

“That's not my fault,” he said, and Tati broke first, giggling so hard she was bent over and she hoped Bucky wouldn't mind her using his bed for support.

“Oh my _God_ ,” she groaned. “Captain Rogers, that's _awful._ ”

“I am hilarious,” he informed her. “And you can call me Steve,” he added, a little shyly.

“ _Steve_. I am trying to be serious with you.” She smiled at him. “Seriously. Bucky's brain has been...not treated nicely, to say the least. Has someone at least introduced you to that concept?”

“Yeah. I don't give a shit.” Steve resumed his seat. “He changed after Azzano and we still...we were still friends. He's gonna be changed now, I know. I'm not getting my old friend back.” He gave her a sad smile. “I'm not the same either. You think anyone is ever gonna ask him how he feels about his old pal Steve?”

No, because it's blindingly obvious how you feel about him, and I bet he's about a subtle as a brick himself, Tati did not say. Oh, she was gonna have a  _long_ talk with the other women tonight. “I will,” she offered. “To be honest, Steve,  _he's_ my patient, not you. He's my priority.”

“Good.” Steve nodded firmly, and adjusted Bucky's blanket. “Is there anything else I can help with?” he asked.

“Not...not right now. When he's well enough for some more intensive therapy, I'll teach you what you can do to help,” Tati said. 

She checked Bucky's vitals again – nothing any worse, and his breathing was a little easier, she thought. Then Tati beat feet – it was  _past_ time to talk to Sarah, and get a real plan going for when Sergeant Barnes woke up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> dietraumerei.tumblr.com


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a conversation in an office - something is learned in the garden

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a quickie, kids, but I think you'll understand why when you read it. I promise the next chapter will go up very soon to make up for it :)

“Sam, thanks for dropping by,” Sarah said gesturing to the chair in her office. “Thanks for making us cinnamon rolls, by the way, they were divine.”

“You're very welcome. This isn't a social call though, is it?” Sam guessed, settling in the chair, a steaming cup of coffee already waiting for him.

“Hell no, that's what the east garden is for.” Sarah grinned and leaned back in her chair. “This is...semi-professional. I want to talk about Steve.”

“Who is my friend, not my patient, and who has a right to his privacy,” Sam pointed out politely.

“I see you've encountered SHIELD before,” Sarah said dryly. 

“Once or twice.” Sam sipped his coffee. “Steve is also grown. You can ask him questions yourself.”

“And I will. But I'm worried about him, and I don't think he's very good at being honest about what he's feeling.”

“What was your first clue?” Sam asked. “I mean, personally, it was the way he always looks like he's about to cry when he smiles.”

“I'd guessed it, based on the whole growing-up-in-the-twenties thing, but that confirmed it,” Sarah agreed. “He's living here, so he's my concern. So are you,” she added, “but I trust you to take relatively good care of yourself.”

“I am so glad I rate better than someone who is unable to name his emotions and an unconscious, brainwashed assassin.”

“Always be proud of your accomplishments, Wilson,” Sarah advised him.

“Oh, I am, Agent McGarrity.” Sam smiled, only a little cautiously. “I'm worried about Steve too. But it doesn't have to do with Barnes, actually.”

Sarah raised an eyebrow.

“His mission is done,” Sam said quietly. “What does he do now? Settle down and help Barnes readjust, help the guy build a life with him or apart. That's one thing. But he's not gonna be able to do that for the rest of his life.”

“I can try to arrange another alien invasion,” Sarah offered, and glared right back at Sam. “Okay, I'm assuming from what you're saying that being Captain America isn't really enough for him.”

“No,” Sam admitted. “It isn't.”

“Also he knows he's depressed, right?”

Sam groaned and buried his face in his hands.

“Oh, that good, huh?”

“I dare you to call him in here and ask him if he's depressed. I'll make you a mint julep when he gives you his answer.” Sam downed about half of his mug of coffee in one go. “Incidentally, now that you've grilled me about my friend, I'd like to lightly grill you back.”

“Sauté away.”

“Okay, never do that again,” Sam said, and Sarah snickered, looking repentant not at all. “What is your _deal_ here? You practically kill Barnes in taking him down, and now you're treating him like a crown prince. I assume you're protecting the hell out of him, since we're not crawling with representatives from every government in the world. What the hell is this place?”

“Okay, first, I had _nothing_ to do with how he was taken in,” Sarah said, looking truly angry. “Yes, that was a branch of SHIELD, and I've already torn them a new one, not that anyone cares. I am _disgusted_ by how he was treated.” She took a deep breath, calming herself. “This is a place where people go to be safe, Commander Wilson. I consider us a...place of respite. And I consider it my duty to protect those under my care, with my life if necessary. I don't know who's lying in that bed. He could be the assassin who...so many people have died, do you know that Sam?” she asked quietly. “Has he killed friends of mine? Is he still that person? Is Bucky Barnes still in that battered head?” 

“Oh, Jesus,” Sam murmured.

“I believe that, whoever he is, he has a right to be cared for. I believe in treating him well, I believe in...being kind.” She smiled wryly. “I also believe in a frankly majestic amount of security precautions around him, because we _don't_ know who will be waking up. But I'm going to treat him well, and protect him, because that's what I'm _supposed to do_. Acceptable answer?”

“More than,” Sam said, feeling a little dizzy. “But this place. Something about it. It's special here, isn't it?”

“Yes,” she said simply. “I don't know why, but yes. It's someplace really special.”

Sam nodded slowly. “Hmm.”

 

Later that evening, Sarah joined Sam and Lisle out on the back patio, watching the sun set over the Berkshires. “I want my mint julep,” she said.

“What'd he say?” Sam asked, rising to where he'd already brought the supplies out.

“That he didn't have anything to be sad about. Sam, I am going to drink myself to an early grave if that man keeps...being himself,” Sarah complained.

“That's a common reaction to Steve. You'll get used to it,” he advised, muddling the mint and sugar.

“Besides, I can give you another reason to drink,” Lisle supplied, and Sarah muffled a groan. “I'm serious, McGarrity” she said quietly. “Sergeant Barnes is starting to wake up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I live for comment notification e-mails, just fyi.
> 
> dietraumerei.tumblr.com


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Past relationships are discussed -- toes are wiggled -- boundaries are enforced

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To make up for last chapter being so short (and to celebrate my incredibly lazy day off), here you go!

'Starting to wake up' it turns out, did not involved any cinematic tricks, like, say, Bucky's eyes slowly opening, then focusing on Steve. It did not involve a soft smile, and Bucky reaching out, Steve grasping his hand and placing kisses on the knuckles. Nor did it involve a soft kiss to Bucky's forehead, a welcome home they both settled into.

(Steve had thought a lot about this, as the reigning authority on waiting too long.)

It meant that Bucky's brain activity was increasing, that his right hand was starting to move, just little twitches of the fingers. It meant he responded to stimuli – mostly pin-pricks, which Lisle had carefully done when Steve _wasn't_ looking (and with a whispered apology to her patient). It meant his healing was speeding up a little with increased nutrient flow. (He still looked skeletal, but his skin no longer felt like dry paper.) That was what waking up meant.

“He may open his eyes, but there's no guarantee he'll see you,” Lisle warned Steve, who had taken up a round-the-clock vigil. (They played a lot of poker.)

“He's _blind_?” Steve asked, his heart breaking. No one had bothered to mention _that_ one to him, in the cascade of 'he won't be the guy you knew's and 'he's badly injured's and so on.

“No! Well. As far as I know, no,” Lisle admitted. “It's just...okay, your eyes work, and send messages to your brain, which translates them, right? There's just no guarantee that his brain and his eyes are connected, at this point. He's not waking up from a deep sleep, Steve, he's coming to from a coma-like state.”

“I know,” Steve said peevishly, and flushed. “I'm so sorry ma'am, that was rude of me.”

“I think I'll live. And I'm ma'am to you now?” Lisle asked, teasing gently.

“Yes, ma'am.” 

“Steve, just out of curiosity, say the world as we knew it was ending, nothing you could do, so on and so forth. Would you still act like a little shit?” Lisle asked sweetly.

“Obviously.” Steve laughed at the look she gave him, and spared a fond smile when Barnes' hand twitched. “See, Bucky totally agrees with me.”

“That man is a saint,” Lisle observed. Sarah still wanted her to shackle him to the bed. Poor baby, he wouldn't be able to sit up under his own power. If he didn't have the healing factor...well, he'd be dead. But a normal human would be looking at months before they could even walk without assistance.

“Have you had patients like him before?” Steve asked.

“Not exactly,” Lisle said. “He's pretty one-of-a-kind. But I've had people this far gone,” she admitted. “Before.” She raised an eyebrow. “And that's all you're hearing, Steve. I take privacy pretty seriously.”

Steve bowed his head to her. “I'm sorry if I overstepped.”

“You didn't, sweetheart. Just letting you know.”

Steve smiled a little at that and reached out, curling his hand around Bucky's for a moment. He had started to do that more often, unable to help himself. He told himself it wasn't a violation, really. As far as they could tell, Bucky's left arm was still dead, shorted out, something. It lay still on the bed, hand relaxed and fingers lightly curled up.

Lisle checked a few more things, and Steve kept his hands to himself, still watching Bucky. He couldn't help but laugh when the toes on his injured leg curled, then straightened. “Sorry, it's just...it really  _does_ look like he's just waking up from a nap sometimes.”

“Steve, can I ask you something that's none of my business?” Lisle said.

“No, we weren't lovers.”

“Uh, thank you. Steve, I promise you, that wasn't me being gossipy,” she said, looking up and meeting his eyes over Barnes' body. “I just want to know what to expect.” She smiled a little. “I promise, I'm not going to race over to Sarah's office shrieking that she won a bet or anything.”

Steve shrugged. “I'm not ashamed of it. And we weren't lovers, but not from want of...wanting.” He sighed, and touched Bucky's hand again. “I've loved him my whole life. And I think he loves me the same way. He  _loved_ me the same way,” Steve corrected himself. “We were just too afraid.”

Lisle nodded, and went back to her work, blinking tears away.

“Do you have someone?” Steve asked softly.

“No,” she said simply. “I did once. But now, I find I like my solitude.”

Steve smiled a little at her. “Lucky.”

“Oh, Steve.” She stood up and walked around the bed. “Can I hug you?”

“If...you want?” Steve said, a little bewildered. She was a tall woman, and it was easy to hug her. 

Steve guessed he should have figured she'd be strong. He couldn't have guessed how much an embrace would mean, how comforting it was. Lisle didn't want anything from him, and he was so  _tired_ . “Thank you,” he mumbled into her shoulder, and she gave him a little squeeze before letting go.

“I assume Sam has already lectured you on self-care?” she said, hands resting on Steve's arms.

“Pretty much daily,” Steve admitted, and she sighed.

 

Sarah ambled down the barely-visible path. She probably should cut it properly – there were people here who weren't familiar with the land who might want to follow it, who didn't know how to read the undergrowth and see where to walk – but for the moment, kept it to herself. Sam preferred to decompress in the kitchen, and Steve had barely moved from Barnes' room. And Barnes, of course, wouldn't be terribly mobile for some time yet.

She refused to feel too softly towards him. Of course she  _did_ – poor darling, he'd been through so much, of  _course_ all she wanted to do was surround him with nice things and take care of him – but Lisle's job was to be soft and caring and Tati's job was to cheer everyone up and Sarah's job was to put up a shield around this magical place. Her job was to be the hard one, who insisted on protecting everyone – Barnes first of all, but the others too. No one knew who was going to wake up, and Sarah didn't trust a man who had run on a broken leg, fought with a broken neck and pneumonia and a dozen gashes that would have killed anyone else. If the Winter Soldier woke up, it didn't matter how weak he was. If Bucky Barnes woke up, she would bake him his favorite cake herself.

She  _protected_ , and if that meant being the hated hardass, she'd take that on and wear it like armor.

The faint path took her to the boundary of their land, and she turned south, following the fence-line to the main entrance. The gate there was still closed, and she climbed over it easily to greet the men there.

Just four of them. One was technically dead, and the other three probably didn't legally exist. Sarah nodded politely to all of them.

“We want to see the Soldier,” one of them said.

“No,” Sarah said.

“You can't actually bar us,” another pointed out. “You're outranked.”

“I have fiat here,” she said. “You know that.”

“For fuck's sake, we just want to study him,” a third growled.

“Nice. You know he's a human, a citizen of the United States, a POW and also under my doctor's care, right?” Sarah asked. “Also, incidentally, he still can't give consent.”

One of them made a frustrated sound. Really, apart from the one who was supposed to be dead – and who had thus far been  _awfully_ quiet, now there was something worth noting – they were all interchangeable.

“Look, let us in. Just for an hour.”

“No.”

Another growl, and a  _grown goddamn adult_ tried to push his way past her.

Sarah wondered if Hydra had been so successful because SHIELD was so. goddamn.  _dumb_ . So she drew her gun on him and aimed it at his nuts. “For goodness sake, you know the rules here.”

He gave an outraged squawk. “I will have you up on charges! They'll throw you out and throw you in prison and you will --”

The man who was supposed to be dead put a hand on his shoulder. “Son, don't,” he advised, and nodded at Sarah. “You can lower your gun.”

She raised it to the moron's head. Then lowered it. “This place is under my protection, as is everyone in it. I have fiat. There's nothing you can do, so I recommend you forget about us.”

“The Soldier has to wake up eventually,” the man snarled.

“Hmm,” said Sarah. They could deal with that in time. She made a mental note – it might be in all their best interests if, as far as anyone knew, Barnes was in a coma for a good long spell. “By the way, tell Brady I said fuck you.”

The man who was supposed to be dead might have almost smiled for an instant. “Goodbye, Agent McGarrity,” he said formally, and turned and headed back to the big SUV they had arrived in.

Sarah watched them drive away, gun still drawn. Good fucking Lord, she thought they'd settled this. The land here – let alone her personal sense of decency – demanded certain rules. SHIELD would have to conform, whether it liked it or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love, love, love discussions and questions and basically teasing the hell out of all of you in re: what will happen next. I live for e-mails from AO3.
> 
> dietraumerei.tumblr.com


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve has a one-track mind - Sarah loses an argument - a walk in the woods - Sergeant Barnes does a thing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all have the collective patience of a saint. Here, have a wee reward!

“He opened his eyes at around oh-two-hundred,” Steve announced to Sam and Lisle, coming in for morning check-in (Lisle) and to try and get Steve to eat some breakfast (Sam).

“That's great!” they both said, and Steve grinned at them, proud as a new father. Bucky was regularly moving his fingers, his toes, had even given a little kick with his unhurt leg.

“I'm ordering another round of x-rays for him,” Lisle said, checking over the night's readings. “I want to check on his neck especially. Oh, good boy, you're taking in those calories,” she praised Bucky. “He'll have to go downstairs for all the diagnostic stuff,” she said, almost absentmindedly. “Steve, would you help me move him? Then you can go get breakfast.”

“Okay,” Steve said, standing up and following her instructions to unlock the wheels on the bed, the two of them pushing Bucky slow and easy.

Steve was sitting down to a huge plate of waffles when he realized just how skillfully he'd been played.

“You two think you're really cute, don't you?”

“I am _adorable_ ,” Sam informed him. “And Lisle's smarter than you, so give up now.”

Steve glared at him, and then ruined the moment by going for his waffles with gusto. He was pretty hungry, all told. And it would take hours still, if not days, for Bucky to really wake up. He was not  _giving in_ .

 

“Sam is one million percent on our side,” Lisle told Sarah at their daily check-in. “Also he's really good with Steve.”

“Good,” Sarah said firmly. “I know we're set up for Sergeant Barnes' requirements, but I don't want to forget Steve in this. He's going to need a lot of support.”

“He's seriously depressed,” Lisle said quietly. 

“I know.” Sarah sighed. “I wish one of us was a mental health specialist. I miss Renne.”

“Me too. I sent her an e-mail, but I think she's pretty well settled in Arizona. And God knows she's earned it.” Lisle smiled. “I can confer with some other colleagues, and ask Sam to recommend people who might do, say, Skype therapy.”

“Good, get on it. And we'll all keep an eye on him meanwhile, poor dab.” Sarah flicked through the stack of papers Lisle had brought her. “How's our Sergeant doing?”

“Swimmingly, actually. His neck and leg are healing at about normal-person rate, but I expect that'll go up as the more serious issues are taken care of. He's burning calories about as fast as we can get them into him, but the pneumonia is considerably improved, and his heart is in excellent shape. Still severely underweight and malnourished, but that takes time.” Lisle sighed. “We won't know the extent of any brain damage until he wakes up, but...I'm cautiously hopeful. You can see the damaged areas repairing themselves,” she said, flipping to some scans. “See, there, and there? Much better. Not perfect, but better.”

Sarah nodded. “Any sign of who's in there?” she asked, and wasn't surprised when Lisle shook her head. “You know I'm concerned about that.”

“I am too,” Lisle said. “But I'm telling you, he can barely sit up on his own. You saw how wasted away he was. Tati could hold him down.”

Sarah made a frustrated sound. “I just want to know he's under control!”

“Sarah, I am not shackling that man to a bed and that's final. There's no need and, Steve barely trusts us as it is! We'll _need_ him.”

“And I need to keep you all safe,” Sarah all but yelled.

“Oh, honey. We are. I promise you, we _are_ ,” Lisle soothed. “Go with me on this one, okay? It's more important not to restrain him. He's got a number of injuries doing just that, anyway.”

Sarah made a face at her. “All right. But I don't like it.”

“I don't much care,” Lisle informed her, but she was smiling anyway. “Hey. He's still a day or two from consciousness anyway, so we can have this fight again tomorrow. Want to walk the boundary later?”

“Can't. I have a teleconference with Headquarters East, for whatever they're wanking about this week.” Sarah gave her a desperate look. “You go?”

“Tati and I will go, and Steve if we can drag him along,” Lisle promised. “I'll bring you some flowers from the western meadow.”

“You're entirely too kind of a person,” Sarah said. “I hate it.”

“It's so sweet when you pretend to be hard-assed,” Lisle teased her. “Look, I've got to get back to watching the saddest love story ever written, but see you over dinner?”

“Dinner. Promise.” Sarah smiled at her friend, and turned back to her e-mail.

 

“I can't leave him,” Steve said, setting his jaw. “I don't want to leave his side. I'm sorry, Lisle, but I'm not going until I know he's awake and he feels safe.”

“Okay,” Lisle said, and smiled at Steve's obvious confusion. “Honey, it was just an offer. You don't have to do anything but stay with Bucky, if that's what you want.” She paused, and reviewed Steve's behavior over the past few days. “You do have to eat and sleep, by the way.”

Steve couldn't help a smile. “I promise. Thank you.”

“I know what fights I've lost before I begin. And it's good, knowing he's got a sentinel.” Particularly one that's a match for him, she mentally added.

She found Sam and Tati in one of the parlors that opened onto the back gardens, and made them the same offer. “It's a good two miles, but it's pretty easy walking,” she explained.

Tati shook her head. “Sorry, honey, I can't really spare the spoons.”

Sam frowned and looked at her.

“I _know_ you've heard of spoon theory,” Tati groaned. “Google it.”

“No, no, I know what it is. You okay, sweetheart?”

“Mmm. Define okay.” Tati grinned at the look he gave her. “I have chronic pain. It's generally manageable, but I'm having a spate of low-spoon days. And I want to save what I've got for if Sergeant Barnes needs it.”

“Makes sense. Hey. You need anything, you ask, okay?” Sam asked. “I make a mean cup of tea and I'm the envy of the block when it comes to doing laundry.”

“Promise,” Tati said, stretching out on the sofa after Sam stood up. “Have a good walk, guys.”

“We'll make dinner when we get back,” Lisle promised as they headed out.

 

“So tell me about this place,” Sam said as the path turned to follow a creek. Nettles grew here – he'd have to come back with gloves and clippers. And a recipe for nettle soup.

“You read our intranet page,” Lisle said a little too sweetly.

“You know, I _used_ to like you, Dr. Van Nuys.”

“I can make Steve do what I want. You wish you _were_ me.”

Sam gave up and laughed. “Point. And yes, I've read the intranet page. This place is something more. It's not just a vacation destination in the Berkshires.”

“Mmm. You want the short explanation, or the long one?” Lisle asked, leaning over to pick a daisy and putting it into her hair.

“Pretty. And short, at least to start with.”

“Short explanation is that we haven't the faintest idea what this place is.”

Sam gave her a tired look. “What's the long?”

“SHIELD's best parapsychologists haven't the faintest idea what this place is either, and let me tell you, they've _tried_.”

“So what do you think it is?” Sam asked.

“Ha. You're clever, aren't you?” Lisle smiled, and touched the daisy in her hair. “I think it's not quite like anyplace else. There are a few sites like this, scattered around the world. I worked at another one for a few years. It's...'special' doesn't really cover it. The land has a mind of its own. It chooses who can work here,” she explained. “Tati, Sarah and I perfectly complement one another, and they're my dearest friends. Sarah has what might be called 'unusual' authority, here. She can – and has – barred the Director himself. And he's obeyed.” Lisle paused so they could scrambled over a stile.

“So it's a place apart,” Sam prompted.

“That's not a bad way to put it.” Lisle jumped over a small muddy spot in the path. “So there's that. And there's more. It's not that the land _heals_ people, exactly, but it _does_. Sort of.” She frowned. “I can't put it into words. I guess it's that if healing is possible, it nudges it along. And it's peaceful here, and people who don't feel safe anywhere else can feel it here.”

Sam, who had not had a single nightmare since moving into the big house, acknowledged this.

“It's not right for everyone. We actually don't get that many people through. But it will be right for Sergeant Barnes. Otherwise he wouldn't be here,” Lisle said simply.

“Does it work on more than one person at a time?” Sam asked quietly.

“We're arranging for a therapist for Captain Rogers,” Lisle said absently, then rewound the conversation in her head. “Oh. Oh, _Sam_.” She turned around, stricken. “Oh, sweetheart.”

“Hey, hey, I can get by without!” He held out his hands, palms outward. “Just curious.”

“You might be able to, but you don't have to,” she said firmly, and reached out to him, then stopped. “What do you need? Anything, we'll get it for you.”

Sam smiled. “Some actual spices in the kitchen, to start with.” He hesitated. “A secure data line. A laptop with Skype. The promise of privacy. I have my own people to talk to.”

“Done, done and done,” Lisle promised. “I'll get you the laptop and the secure line tonight. Spices will have to wait until one of us can get away, or the next order coming in.”

“Thank you,” Sam said quietly, and changed the subject.

 

Steve sat with Bucky, peaceful and easy, and watched the sun set. Bucky had been moving more and more. His fingers and toes – Steve privately found that  _adorable_ – and his arm, healed enough that it didn't need to be immobilized in a sling. The cervical collar kept him from moving his head, but Steve could see his eyes moving behind eyelids no longer bruised-looking. “Take your time, Buck,” he said softly. “I'm not going anywhere.”

Bucky had opened his eyes a few times, but clearly wasn't aware. This time, though. Steve was watching him, and the sun had just dipped below the horizon when Bucky's eyes opened. He looked to his left, where Steve was.

And Bucky smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love love love your comments, and the discussions, and the way you make me think about this story!
> 
> dietraumerei.tumblr.com


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a conversation between old friends -- Lisle is smug -- favorites are chosen -- Sergeant Barnes has an encounter with gravity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm getting closer to the point I've written up to, so chapter posting may go a little further between -- like 5-7 days or so. Or not. I am mildly* addicted to comment notifications from AO3.
> 
> *extremely

“Hi,” Steve said, trying to hide his shaking hands. “Hi, hey. It's me.”

“Steve?” Bucky asked, his voice raw and low. “Steve, is that you?”

“Yeah. Yeah, it's me buddy.” Steve grinned and reached out, taking Bucky's hand. “Hi. Hi, you.”

“I thought you were smaller.” Bucky was smiling though, lazy and sweet.

Steve laughed. “I got the serum, remember? I'm taller'n you now.”

“The hell you are.” Bucky tried to turn his head, panic coming into his eyes. “Steve, Steve, I can't move, what's wrong, why can't I move?”

“Shh, it's okay,” Steve soothed. “You were hurt badly, Buck. You're in...a safe place. You gotta heal up, though. Here, squeeze my hand. See?”

Bucky's fingers tightened around Steve's, almost imperceptible. “'m safe?”

“Yeah, buddy. You're safe,” Steve said softly. “You're hurt bad, but it'll be okay. Promise.”

“Kay.” Bucky's eyes drifted shut, but the slight smile stayed on his face.

Steve buried his face in Bucky's blanket and grinned so hard his face ached.

 

Lisle listened to Steve's meticulous recitation of everything Bucky had said and done, gave him a huge hug, checked the security footage, gave him another hug, and went to go tell Sarah where to get off.

“Everyone thinks you're so sweet,” Sarah said. “ _I_ know you're an evil gloating old biddy, though.”

“Fair's fair. Everyone thinks you're a giant hardass, and you're the human equivalent to marshmallow.”

“I damn well am not.” Sarah grinned. “I am _such_ a hardass, just not to you.”

“Eh, like I care.” Lisle laughed. “Sarah, he knows who he is. This is going to be so much better than we'd feared.”

“It's looking so,” Sarah admitted. “What's his brain activity look like?"

“He's sleeping deeply, but it's a real sleep now. There are still areas of damage, and truly, we're not out of the woods yet.” Lisle sighed. “What happened this evening was fantastic. But I'm not entirely sure if the Sergeant knows _when_ he is. If his personality right now is pre-fall, there's no guarantee that the Soldier isn't still in there. His brain is...strange.” Her face went hard. “As you'd expect, from something that had been repeatedly frozen and thawed.”

Sarah's face was just as grim. “Really, it's a miracle he's upright. Hydra wasn't burnt out fast enough.”

“Or painfully enough.” Lisle shook her head. “I'm still willing to be cautiously celebratory. _Some_ part of his head recognizes Steve and trusts him, and is willing to believe him.” She smiled a little. “A really charming part of him, I should say.”

“Lisle, that footage will be destroyed in twenty-four hours and don't you _dare_ make screenshots because you think the Winter Soldier is a cutie-pie.”

“But he _is_ ,” Lisle whined. “Steve's right. When he wiggles his toes, it's adorable.”

“I hate everyone here,” Sarah said calmly. “Can I give Steve a hug or has he literally transformed into a puppy dog?”

“Marshmallow.”

“Go fuck yourself, Van Nuys.”

 

If Steve had been difficult to pry from Bucky's side before, now he was pretty much impossible. Sam gave up trying to get him to even show up for meals, and delivered his plate personally.

Bucky had slept the night through, and hadn't opened his eyes again, but Steve was patient. That was his Bucky in there, in that too-thin, broken body. His Bucky, who had known him.

“It's better that he sleeps, right?” Steve asked, as Lisle checked Bucky's vitals. She had ordered another round of scans and x-rays early that morning, showing that Bucky's healing factor was really starting to kick in; she had even started to make noises about taking off the neck support and trading the big cast on Bucky's leg for a brace. “It helps?”

“Yes, Steve. It's _amazing_ what sleep can accomplish,” she said dryly, and looked at him. Steve had stayed up all night, of course.

“I can go days without,” Steve defended himself. “And I _can't_ sleep now.”

“You're lucky you're so cute, or I'd trank you,” she mock-threatened.

“How's his weight?” Steve asked, peering over her shoulder.

“ _Private_ ,” she said, and took pity at Steve's genuinely abashed look. “Going up. He's still underweight, but he's not starving anymore.”

Steve smiled shyly. “Good. Thanks. I'm not sorry.”

Lisle laughed, and turned back to her data. “God, no wonder you're Sarah's favorite.”

“You play favorites?” he asked, pouting. “And it's not me?”

“Steve, you are the biggest pain in my ass --” Lisle's threat was cut off by motion from the bed.

“Bucky?” Steve asked eagerly, half-rising and moving so Bucky would see him without canting his eyes to one side. “Hey, pal. You waking up finally?”

Bucky's eyes flew open, and he shot upright.

Lisle just barely didn't jump in surprise, but she shoved Steve out of the way, guessing that this wasn't the charming young sergeant of last night. “James, Sergeant Barnes, you're safe,” she said, reaching out to try and calm him.

Bucky tried to turn his head to face her, and howled when he couldn't, right hand coming up to scrabble at the cervical collar.

“No, don't, it's to keep you safe,” she said, reaching out and trying to pull his hand away. “Calm down, James, I know it hurts but you're safe.”

Bucky jerked away, and screamed. Blood immediately started soaking through the gown he wore – Lisle guessed that he'd ripped open one of the gashes in his side.

“Bucky, Buck, no, it's okay,” Steve tried to soothe, and reached past Lisle, touching Bucky's side. “Buddy, just lie down before you hurt yourself,” he begged.

Bucky yelled something in Russian and  _threw_ himself off of the bed, crashing down to the floor. He took Lisle with him, the two of them landing hard, her head slamming into the floor with a  _crack_ , a hundred and fifty plus pounds of super-soldier landing on top of her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! PS I'm not sorry.
> 
> dietraumerei.tumblr.com


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A discussion of classical art -- what's needed is done -- it's a miracle Peggy Carter ever gave Steve Rogers the time of day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whooo new chapter!
> 
> And for real, I love your comments. You could post a comment telling me what you had for dinner, and I would love it. And the discussions! It really does affect how I write this story, I promise :)

Lisle grunted, fighting through the sharp pain in her head. And elsewhere – Bucky was heavier than he looked. And not particularly soft.

“No, no, no,” Steve pleaded, and the weight above her was gone at least. She made it up on one elbow, breathing heavily, while Captain America tried to subdue a man she would have bet money could barely sit up under his own power.

Barnes fought back, and it made her heart hurt – he could only be in incredible pain, but he was savage, trying to throw punches, scrabbling to get his legs under him, seemingly not understanding when one wouldn't bend. He landed a good right jab on Steve's face – Lisle winced – and had pulled away. He was clawing his way across the floor, pathetic, skinny and now blood-drenched, not even able to crawl, when she tackled him and jabbed the prepped syringe she'd hidden under his bed into his shoulder.

Bucky howled and flipped her off of him, but she landed better this time, and anyway, it didn't matter. The tranquilizer was working, Bucky was reduced to making choking sounds, still trying to get away until the very end.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Lisle said, refusing to cry where Steve would see her. She gathered Bucky close, holding him, afraid of what the next round of scans would show. “You were just afraid,” she murmured into his hair, rocking them both a little, one arm around his back and the other under his knees. “I'm so sorry. I'm _so sorry_ , please forgive me, please understand it's for your own good.”

She sensed more than saw Steve sit down heavily across from her. “I'm sorry,” she said again, apologizing for everything. For what had made a beautiful young man into this. What had made him so afraid that he would try to escape above all else. For having to drug him. For not being able to head this off. “I promise I'll take care of you,” she whispered into his hair. “This won't happen again. I won't let you hurt yourself again, I  _promise_ .”

She looked up, and tears were running down Steve's face. “It's not that bad,” she choked out. “It isn't, Steve. Remember that he knows you, he  _does_ .”

Steve nodded, and wiped his eyes.

“I'm sorry. I should have done more...”

Steve shook his head and smiled, heartbreakingly sad. “You couldn't have known.” He paused, and added quietly, “You're holding him like he's your son.”

“I'm not going to leave him on the _floor,”_ she snapped. Also, she was concussed. And emotional. And bloody furious from it. 

“No. It's just.” That sad smile again. “You look like Michelangelo's _Pieta_.”

“Good. That Mary always looked like she could benchpress Jesus and half the apostles too.” Lisle closed her eyes against a stab of pain. “Can you help me get him back into bed?”

“Of course.” Steve knelt and slipped his hands under Bucky's body, rolling him a little so his head rested against Steve's shoulder, and he could lift him without jostling too much.

Lisle let herself very gently collapse back onto the floor, ignoring how this made her feel sicker. Shit. Sarah had been right.

 

Much later that night, Sam had taken over Bucky-and-Steve-watching duty, and Lisle lay on her back on the sofa. She had a helluva black eye, was bruised from shoulder to hip, and had, as she expected, a concussion. Various icepacks were doing what they could, and she'd had a good old cry in Sarah's arms. Time to plan.

“I told you we should have cuffed him to the bed.”

“He'd break the other leg too.” Lisle closed her eyes, trying to forget how he had looked, throwing himself at the ground. “It'll have to be restraints. One ton breaking point minimum. Bands, across his shoulders, hips, legs.” She swallowed hard. “And something in an IV to keep him slow.” God, it fucking hurt to say that. How was she better than Hydra, drugging him up like that?

“No,” Sarah said. “I don't want to dampen what's in there.” She smiled wryly. “Who knows who's going to wake up next? Restraints, and Steve. That should...keep him safe.”

“I hope you feel as sick as I do,” Lisle mumbled.

“No, I don't,” Sarah said, and stroked her forehead. “And not just because I'm not a bundle of major head injury and emotion. “We're keeping him safe, too. Has he re-injured himself?”

“I don't know, Tati's still running scans. It'd be a miracle if he didn't.” She set her jaw, and took a deep breath. “Whatever it turns out to be, we'll deal with it. We'll do everything we can for him.”

“Including protecting him from himself,” Sarah agreed. “That's why I don't feel guilty restraining him. He's _safe_ that way.”

 

Sarah put the straps on herself, under Steve's watchful eye and clenched jaw. Her own jaw was pretty fucking clenched itself when she finished, testing to make sure that the thick fabric wasn't cutting into Barnes' skin.

“I know you have to do it, but I don't have to like it,” Steve said.

“How's Lisle?” Sam asked quietly, one hand on Steve's shoulder.

Sarah rubbed her eyes. “Concussion. Black eye. Bruises, nasty ones. I suggested she take a day off to recover.”

“I'll have coffee for her at oh-seven-thirty,” Sam said.

Steve didn't say anything, just worked his jaw and stayed in the chair he'd put, defiantly, by Bucky's bed.

 

The next morning, Lisle hit the ground running. “Right,” she said, coming into Bucky's room at full tilt, coffee in one hand and iPad in the other. “You didn't re-break your leg and your neck isn't damaged any further, so well done you,” she said, peering over the iPad to Bucky's prone body. “You're welcome, by the way, I  _do_ make an excellent landing pad. Tati re-stitched everything you opened up, and we've upped your calories  _again_ because you literally have the appetite of a small family, and we are  _going to get you well,_ Sergeant Barnes.”

She looked up to find Steve's jaw gently dropped. “ _What_ ?” she snapped.

“You look terrible,” he said.

“We can't all have super-soldier hair,” she said. “When was the last time you showered by the way? If we're resorting to personal attacks.”

“Uh,” said Steve.

“Is that how you got Peggy Carter to fall for you?” Sam asked, sticking his head through the door. “Just curious. I would have thought she'd respond better to compliments, is all.”

“There was a war on, I didn't shower for _weeks_ sometimes,” Steve informed him.

“Well, there's a war on now, but it's not _here_ , so go clean yourself up and come back when you can do something other than gape at me,” Lisle said.

“Um,” said Steve.

“They're called painkillers, you should try them sometime,” Sarah offered, coming in and going over to Bucky's bedside. “Good morning, gentlemen. Steve, get the fuck out so Sam and Lisle can tend to the patient. And for god's sake, shower. And eat breakfast.”

Steve looked like he wanted to argue, but one look at Lisle, and her bruised face, sent him out of the room.

The medics in the room worked with a minimum of communication, the two of them falling into rhythm and finishing their work quickly and neatly. Bandages were changed, Bucky's leg propped up a little higher when they noticed his toes were swelling a bit. Sam helped check over his other injuries, and was relieved to find the healing factor doing its job. Any bruises had already mostly faded, the cuts looking better than they had before. Bucky's body was healing itself, at least.

Sarah watched silently, helping when asked, but otherwise simply observing. Bucky lay still, the last of the drugs keeping him sluggish and ensuring he didn't wake up.

Sam went to check on Steve, and Lisle sat down beside Sarah, her head resting on her friend's shoulder. “I just want him to heal,” she said quietly.

“Me too,” Sarah said. “Headquarters is under the impression that he's still in a coma, by the way.”

“Good.” Lisle closed her eyes. It would probably be another hour before Barnes could possibly wake up. Best to rest while she could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter up on Sunday (at least that's the plan), with apologies that this is a bit of a short one.
> 
> dietraumerei.tumblr.com


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve is not the mid-century modern type -- SHIELD locker room doors are not for slamming -- on the appreciation of architecture and Bucky's current hair situation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really love updating on Sundays for whatever reason, so here.
> 
> There is some very blunt discussion of Steve's depression and suicidal tendencies in this chapter. If you don't wish to read it, just scroll down to “Hey, any news on the Soldier?”, after the first section break.

“I lied,” Steve said without preamble.  
  
“About?” Sam couldn't really muster the energy to be funny.  
  
“About saying that I didn't care who Bucky was now, I just wanted him to wake up.” Steve gave him a bleak look. “I want my friend back.”  
  
“Steve...” Sam sighed, and gave him a sad smile. “He's in there. He knew you.”  
  
“And then he socked me one and tried to run away.” Steve smiled ruefully. “Actually, I'd give him the punch.”  
  
“I'm sort of on his side for that one,” Sam said dryly. “Steve, you've said yourself, you're both different people now. You'd have to be. He's gonna have to get used to you, too.”  
  
“Yeah.” Steve looked down. “I hate it when people give me antiques, you know that? When they think I should be so happy to have something from my time.”  
  
“Never did peg you as the midcentury modern type.”  
  
“That was after I tried to kill myself,” Steve said bluntly, and Sam didn't flinch. “I get a lot of depression-era tchotchkes.”  
  
“I want you to know I noticed you acknowledging your suicidal feelings,” Sam said. “I think I'm proud of you.”  
  
Steve gave him a Captain America smile, and Sam genuinely winced.  
  
“Please don't do that again. Right, so you hate antiques. But you want your best friend back so you're tearing yourself apart over the mismatch in your head.”  
  
“I know he'll be different. He was different after Azzano. I'm different now.” Steve breathed deeply. “But I want a friend. I want someone who understands, or at least has a similar experience, y'know?”  
  
“I get it,” Sam said. “And what makes you think that Barnes can't become that?”  
  
“I don't know. I don't want to – to decide things like that for him,” Steve said. Then, suddenly. “Sam, what am I gonna do if he wants nothing to do with me? If he gets better and leaves and I never see him again?”  
  
“Steve, as your friend, I gotta ask. Would you put a plane into an iceberg again?” Sam asked gently.  
  
Steve slumped on the sofa. “What would you do if I said yes?” he asked.  
  
“Try to talk you out of it. Make sure you don't get the chance.” Sam paused. “Point out that you aren't the only person in this room who's wanted to end it all,” he added softly. “Promise you it's not worth it.”  
  
Steve smiled sadly, and sighed. “No. Honestly Sam...no. It would be enough, to know he's alive.”  
  
“And what about living for yourself?”  
  
Steve shrugged. “I'm getting there.”  
  
Sam nodded, and didn't pursue. Steve needed some pretty intensive work, and anyway, Sam was walking the line between friend and counsellor, and it was high time to duck back to friend.  
  
“You gonna stay in his room tonight?” he asked, and Steve nodded.  
  
“If he wakes up and knows me, I wanna be there for him,” he explained.  
  
“I'll bring you dinner,” Sam promised.  
  
  
“Hey, any news on the Soldier?” Agent Erlend asked, slamming the door to his locker shut.  
  
“It still hasn't woken up, last I heard,” Agent Brady said, closing his locker door more gently. Some people, honestly. Almost as bad as the assholes who didn't wipe down the gym equipment when they were done with it.  
  
“Pretty sure he's got a gender,” Erlend said. “And damn, that's impressive, even Cap came to after a day. Guess he's really fucked up.”  
  
“People have genders, weapons don't. Sergeant Barnes was a hero, but he's dead now, it's just his body that's alive,” Brady argued, for what felt like the tenth time that week. Did no one read the fucking file?  
  
“You don't know that, seeing as he's still knocked out.” Erlend shook his head, and the two men headed for the weight room first. “And I can think of about fifty ways to weaponize sexuality, and so can you.”  
  
“You think...?”  
  
“He was a handsome man, once,” Erlend observed. “And McGarrity released his basic vitals. All the bits are there.”  
  
“You don't neuter a dog you wanna make into a fighter,” Brady pointed out. “He didn't really seem the fuckable type though, if I may be so bold.”  
  
“He was also mostly dead when you found him,” Erlend pointed out, not adding that Brady's team had had a considerable hand in that. He liked Brady well enough, but the man was...off-balance, sometimes.  
  
“Whatever. It's gotta wake up sometime. Probably slaughter the lot of them up there, before someone puts it down,” Brady predicted, adjusting the weights on the squat bar.   
  
“Your compassion for your colleagues is overwhelming,” Erlend said dryly. “Right, six reps, man. You got this.”  
  
  
Steve was damn well going to keep his self-appointed vigil over Bucky's bedside, but he could take the scenic way there, at least. His bedroom was on the ground floor, same as Bucky's – on the east wing rather than the west, though. (He got nice sunrises; Bucky got glorious sunsets. It was a nice split. He had talked a little with Sarah, and even as Bucky improved he would stay in the same room, though trading the hospital bed for a real one.) He could step outside and turn left, following a gravel path, and enter a tiny garden, full of flowers and growing things and a bench built into the stone. No more than ten foot by ten foot, it led to glass French doors, and Bucky's bedroom itself.  
  
Or he could turn right, and circle the entire big house. There were other, smaller, buildings scattered about the land, but the only one he had been into was this, the headquarters of whatever this place was. It was a grand old antebellum building, the main part of it three stories tall and the wings two stories each. It was perfectly symmetrical and, in the warmth of summer, shaded by huge oak and sycamore trees. They were nice to walk through on an evening, and Steve took his time.  
  
He let himself at last into Bucky's room, and took his accustomed seat. “Hey Buck,” he said, more or less determined to forget his conversation with Sam. “You're lookin' better. Lisle said you're taking in food as fast as she can get it into you. I always said you've been hungry since the Coolidge administration.”  
  
Steve found it very easy to talk to his unconscious, brain-damaged, should-be-dead best friend, who did not talk back. He felt that meditating on why this was so wouldn't be helpful in the moment.  
  
“I'll brush your hair for you before bedtime,” he promised, not that there was really going to be a bedtime. Bucky was unconscious and Steve might drift off in the wee hours, snatch a little bit of sleep. Maybe. “I kinda like it long. Makes your face look awful different, but maybe that's 'cause you're so skinny. Y'could give old me a run for the money right now.” He reached out and touched the strap across Bucky's chest. “I'm sorry about this, pal,” Steve murmured. “I hate it, but it's a miracle you didn't hurt yourself worse. We're keeping you safe. I swear, no one's gonna touch a hair on your head.”  
  
Bucky gave a little grunt, and his fingers twitched. There were still IV's going into the back of his hand, but he hadn't needed the sling for a few days.  
  
“You wakin' up there?” Steve asked softly. “You're safe, Buck. I promise, you're safe.”  
  
Bucky's fingers curled, then relaxed.    
  
“Hope you're havin' good dreams,” Steve said, voice still so soft it wouldn't carry past the bed. “Being awake is shit. I'm so selfish for wanting you to wake up, knowin' you're gonna be in pain, knowin' your mind isn't working right. But I miss you, Bucky. I really do.”  
  
Bucky's toes curled up tightly, and Steve smiled and touched his leg, knowing Bucky wouldn't feel it through the cast. “Yeah, you're dreamin'. Hope the lady's beautiful, Buck.”  
  
“Yeah, she was,” Bucky grated out, and opened his eyes. “Oh, fuck,” he said.  
  
“Yeah,” said Steve. “That about sums it up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dietraumerei.tumblr.com -- come hang out with me! I post a lot of pictures of Sebastian Stan's face (and, lately, his arse), and occasionally even talk about my life, as though I were running an old-timey blog.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the proper care of an Asset is explained -- Lisle gives her professional opinion -- Bucky is not impressed

Bucky closed his eyes, then opened them again. “I know you,” he said.

“Yeah,” Steve said quietly. “You've known me since you were seven.”

“I _knew_ you,” Bucky breathed. “I know I did. The man on the bridge. I knew you, and you knew me.”

“Yeah, Buck.” Steve swallowed hard. “Soon as I saw your face.”

“Steve,” Bucky said slowly, tasting the name. “You're Steve.”

“Uh huh.” Steve smiled so hard it hurt. “D'you remember where you are?”

Bucky tried to shake his head, but couldn't. “My neck, why can't I --”

“You're hurt,” Steve said quickly, and moved so Bucky could see him without canting his eyes to one side. “Your neck was broken. But it'll heal.”

“Right. Lviv.” Bucky frowned. “No, wait, that was in '74.”

“You broke your neck in 1974?”

“I...think so?” Bucky frowned again. “Why am I awake?”

“What?”

“When injured, the Asset cannot be frozen except for transportation. Retards healing. The asset is sedated instead.” Bucky put his hand up to his face, gently feeling the GI tube going into his nose. “ _No_.”

“It's just while you were unconscious,” Steve soothed, reaching out and then stopping himself. “Does it hurt? I can call someone....” Actually, he should probably let Lisle know her patient was awake, aware, and more or less calm. You know, just for recordkeeping's sake.

“No. The Asset _should not_ be fed before cryo, don't you people know anything?” Bucky glared at Steve. “The body will be healed in...oh.”

“What is it?” Steve asked, completely bewildered now.

“The body will take many days to heal,” Bucky said, sounding sad about it. “Why am I awake?”

“I'm calling your doctor,” Steve said, pretty sure he was fucking something up.

Bucky closed his eyes and lay back. “Acknowledged,” he said, very softly.

Steve sent Lisle a particularly frantic text message, and was relieved when she came racing in. He could almost feel guilty she was obviously in her pajamas. Almost.

“Bucky, this is Dr. Van Nuys,” Steve said, when Bucky had cautiously opened his eyes.

“Hello Sergeant,” she said, smiling at him. 

Bucky just stared back, and Steve's worrying turned up a notch. Lisle's hair was loose, flowing down her back and she was wearing a tank top and loose cotton pants with a pretty flower print on them. She was barefoot. She had a black eye and bruises were visible on her arms and chest.

She didn't really look like a doctor. Steve wouldn't  _really_ blame Bucky if he thought this was all a set-up.

“How are you feeling?” she asked, and Steve noticed she was still out of arm's reach.

“Assessing,” Bucky said, and then blinked. “Fractures in cervical vertebrae are 50% healed. No care required. Three fractures in tibia remain. Suboptimal healing rates. One fracture in fibula. Suboptimal healing. Weight-bearing is possible, support recommended but not required. Significant wound on right torso 50% healed. No more care required. Caloric intake consistent with a refeeding schedule. No more care required. No other injuries requiring reporting. Estimated four days before cryo is recommended. Six days if Asset is required for mission.”

“ _What_?” Steve managed, his voice cracking.

“Asset is not required for mission,” Lisle said, her voice calm as ever. “Asset is never required for a mission again. Asset will _not_ bear weight on his leg _I just re-set that a few days ago_.” She sighed, and ran a hand through her hair. “Sergeant, you are _shit_ at self-assessment, and that is my professional opinion.”

Bucky blinked at her. “No longer required?”

“No. Sergeant Barnes, you're home. You aren't...no one can require you to do anything,” she said, while ignoring the fact that Steve was more or less crumbling beside her.

“Oh,” Bucky said, and she smiled at him. 

“How about we get those restraints off?” she said, and stepped closer.

Bucky flinched.

“Hey,” Lisle said, trying not to think what process had made the deadliest assassin in the world flinch when a doctor came closer. “I'm not gonna hurt you, I promise. Do you want Steve to take the straps off?”

Bucky just stared at her. He licked his lips, and bit the lower one.

“Steve, sweetheart, you know how the clasps work, right?” Lisle asked.

“I've got you, Buck,” Steve said, moving around her and quickly undoing the straps that held Bucky down.

“There is no requirement for the Asset?” Bucky asked again.

“None,” Lisle assured him.

Bucky rolled over onto his side, clearly trying to curl up, unable to stop a gasp when his leg moved too quickly. Cuts and bruises decorated his back, visible through the hospital gown, and his spine and ribs stood out too proud.

“Hey, hey, no,” Steve said, reaching out but not touching. “Hey Buck, you'll be a lot more comfortable on your back.”

“Access to spine is required when Asset is no longer needed,” Bucky said, his voice tight with pain. “Most efficient method of death still under debate. Access to neck is preferable.” He reached up and removed the collar, whimpering when he bent his head forward.

Lisle shook off her shock well before Steve did. “Asset is needed. But not for missions,” she growled, and stalked over to the bed, bending down to meet Bucky's eyes. “Asset is no longer asset. He's Sergeant James Barnes, and he's free and safe. Understood?”

Bucky finally met her eyes. “Safe?”

“Safe.”

“Not understood.”

“Then we'll teach you.” Lisle reached out and rested her fingertips on his shoulder. “We'll teach you how things are now, I promise.”

Bucky nodded, and closed his eyes, gritting his teeth against pain.

“We'll also teach you what severe injuries that need care and attention are,” Lisle added dryly. “Sergeant, I'm going to roll you onto your back, and put the brace back on your neck. Steve, can you guide his leg, make sure it doesn't get jostled too much? Thank you.”

She carefully rolled him over, and fastened the collar back on, the stiff plastic and metal forcing Bucky's neck straight and still again. “I'm sorry,” she murmured. “I know it's not always very comfortable. But it's important you keep it on until you're a little more healed, okay?”

“Oh...kay.” Bucky still looked at her with genuine fear, but he held still, compliant.

“Thank you,” she said, and smiled at him. “Would you like to sit up?”

Bucky hesitated, then spoke. “Lungs are at 40% capacity. Resting upright would assist.”

“So that's a yes.” She raised the head of the bed so that Bucky was half-sitting, and adjusted the pillow under his head because it was that or scream. And he was probably traumatized enough.

So was Steve, for that matter. He hovered anxiously, his hands dancing above Bucky's body, but not touching. Bucky didn't seem to notice, or care if he did. He lay quietly, eyes facing forward.

“Is there anything you want?” she asked, curious as to what his answer would be. If he asked for the moon, she would race Steve to get it for him.

“I want?” Bucky echoed, brow furrowing. “I...don't want anything. Thank you ma'am,” he added, voice slipping into a Brooklyn accent.

Steve looked like someone had shot him.

“You're welcome,” she said. “And you can call me Lisle, okay?”

“Lisle...” Bucky echoed obediently.

She was tempted to ask if he was comfortable, but was pretty sure he didn't really know what that meant. So Lisle checked him over once to make sure nothing was obviously wrong, and tucked him under the light summer blanket. “Sleep whenever you want to,” she said. “I'll check in on you in the morning.”

Bucky didn't answer. Well, at least he wasn't trying to get away. She exchanged a look with Steve, and went to go let Sarah know that Bucky was awake, for good this time.

 

Steve sat down by Bucky's side. “Hey pal,” he said. “You mind if I stay in here tonight?”

“No,” Bucky said, and then. “Where are we?”

“You're in New York. We're not that far from Brooklyn, actually,” Steve said, voice warming because Bucky was _awake_ and asking _questions_. “Do you remember anything? From before you came here?"

Bucky frowned, and thought. “Yes,” he said slowly. “Things...it's all mixed up.” He closed his eyes tightly. “Sedate me. Healing will speed.”

“Hey, you're healing just fine, it sounds like,” Steve said. “Just gotta rest, and give your body time.”

Bucky frowned. “If you sedate, this body will require fewer calories. Less time. More efficient.”

“There are things more important than efficiency,” Steve growled. “And you need more calories, not fewer.” Tati had let slip that Bucky's heart had been in danger of failing, it had to work so hard with so little. Steve would give up his own heart first, before he let Bucky die.

“Low efficiency is a drain on resources. Sedating the asset frees up doctor's time. Frees up a lot, for more valuable things.” Bucky frowned. “You really don't know anything, do you?”

“I know you're the only patient here, Buck. I know that you're the most valuable person in this place.” Steve breathed deeply, and blinked away tears. “I know that it hasn't been a chore to care for you, and it won't be, not matter how inefficient it seems to you. It's my pleasure. It's all of our pleasures, to take care of you.”

Bucky gave him an odd look. “I used to take care of you. You didn't feel like this  _then_ .”

Steve laughed, and buried his face in his hands so he could wipe his eyes discreetly. “I was a moron. And it's different, with you. Always has been.”

Bucky gave him a disbelieving look, but settled back in the bed.

“You remember taking care of me?” 

“Yeah. You got sick a lot. Had to eat a lot of liver.” Bucky looked at him. “I remember a lot. But it's...jumbled. Don't understand it.” He closed his eyes and winced. “Hurts.”

“What does? Remembering?” Steve asked dumbly.

“No, my half-dozen broken fuckin' bones.” The flash of the old Bucky was eerie, more startling than welcome, but Steve laughed anyway.

“Lisle said your serum-enhanced healing is kicking in, so that should be taken care of soon,” he offered.

Bucky's face stayed neutral. “She disagreed with my self-assessment.”

“Because she's right!”

Bucky sighed. “You don't understand.” He closed his eyes. “And I'm tired.”

“Go to sleep,” Steve said, and then asked again, hesitantly,“Do you want me to stay?”

“Why?”

“In case you wake up and you—you need something.” In case you wake up and you're lonely. In case you wake up and think Hydra has you again. In case you wake up and think, for one moment, that you're not the most valuable being in my life.

“I won't,” Bucky said, and fell asleep between one breath and the next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and commenting! I'm hoping to keep posting chapters once or twice a week until the story is over. (When will the story be over? THE LORD ALONE KNOWS. I suspect it's another long 'un.)
> 
> dietraumerei.tumblr.com


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Meeting -- Sergeant Barnes and Commander Wilson say hello -- Everybody Loves Natasha -- Bucky Figures Steve Out in .2 Seconds, As Expected

“So what's your read on him?” Sarah asked, the three women sitting in her office. Her locked, soundproofed office. Sam was on Steve-and-Bucky duty, which right now mostly consisted of getting some food into Steve.

“He's very polite. Wary, which is probably a very healthy sign, to be honest.” Lisle wove her hair into a braid, thinking. “There are sparks of the man Steve's been telling us about, you can tell – his voice changes, and his accent. But mostly he's...quiet, almost machinelike. He gave me a rundown of his injuries, but claimed that they didn't need any more care.” She looked grim. “I think he's not terribly used to being cared _for_. And he's definitely not clear on where he is and what it means to no longer be held by Hydra.”

“But he's not violent?”

“No, not at all. He's almost...docile?” Lisle sighed. “I almost liked it better when he was trying to escape. At least we knew there was a spark in there, then.”

“There likely still is, he's just collecting data. So we've got to show him the data in such a way that he believes us. Does he trust you?” Sarah asked.

“Not in the least.”

“How about Steve? I mean, does he trust _him_?” Tati asked. 

“He remembers Steve,” Lisle said cautiously. “Trust? I hope so. Steve's our big in to getting him to understand things. The way they know each other...he'll at least know that he's safe. I hope.”

“Damn, we need a psychologist,” Sarah murmured. “Fuck. Well. How's he doing physically?”

“Healing? I want to get the GI tube out and give him real food, though keep to a refeeding schedule so he doesn't get ill. Tati, can you stop by and at least introduce yourself tomorrow?”

“Of course.” Tati tilted her head to one side. “What's bothering you? We've had patients worse off than him.”

“Have we?” Lisle asked. “He's had _decades_ of brainwashing, people messing around in his mind, people treating him terribly. And he's out of time too, same as Steve – and you see what that's done to him.”

“Ah, but they'll have each other. That'll help,” Tati pointed out.

“Not if they're so far apart they have nothing but a distant past in common anymore,” Sarah argued. “Steve isn't our silver bullet here. Sergeant Barnes is going to have heal for himself, or not at all.”

 

“Hi,” said Steve from the doorway. “Mind if we come in? It's just me and Sam.”

Bucky sat up a little, turning enough to see them, then lay back down. “You can come in,” he said carefully.

Steve came over and stood so Bucky could see him easily. “Hey,” he said. “How're you feeling, Buck?”

Bucky considered this for a few minutes. “Pain levels are tolerable. The bed is very soft.”

“Yeah, I had trouble with that when I woke up,” Steve offered, and Bucky glared at him.

“That wasn't a complaint.”

A muffled snicker from Sam reminded Steve that he was in the room. “Oh. This is Sam Wilson. You, uh, met on the bridge.”

“Yeah. And later. Wings. I'm sorry about that,” Bucky said. 

“Not your fault,” Sam said carefully. “Good to see you again.”

“What do you mean? I grounded you.” Bucky frowned. “I...hurt you. It's something I did, right? I remember it.”

“Yeah, that was you,” Sam said, voice gentler this time. “But you were following orders you couldn't disobey. I'm not upset at you, Sergeant.”

“Sergeant? Oh, right. Before.” Bucky smiled a little, remembering, then his face sobered. “They told me I was doing good. On the helicarrier.”

“They had to lie to you, to get the brainwashing to work,” Steve broke in, a little desperately. “You were too strong for them, they had to convince you that you were on the right side.”

“...side?” Bucky looked at him oddly. “Weapons don't take sides.”

Sam changed the subject to hide how Steve's heart broke just then.

 

“I don't know, Nat.” Steve settled back against a tree that had a perfect vee in its roots, sized just right for him. “It's like there's little flashes of the guy I knew. And then the rest of the time he's...quiet.” Steve paused, and thought. “He's cautious, and quiet, and keeping him to one topic is impossible, which is _really_ unusual for him.”

“Steve, he's been tortured for decades and he's brain-damaged. I'd be more suspicious if you got exactly your old friend back,” Nat said. “Oh, hang on, I need my hand.”

Steve heard her put the phone down, then some punching sounds. He waited patiently.

“Sorry about that. Someone didn't believe me when I said _stay there and don't move_.”

Nat wasn't even breathing hard.

Steve had once asked Sam if it was possible to be platonically in love with someone. Sam said that it was impossible to not be platonically in love with Nat, and then they both stared off into the middle distance for a moment before going about their business.

“No problem. And I don't expect the old Bucky back _exactly_ , just...that there wouldn't be these flashes of the old him. Moments where I _know_ him, and I swear that makes it worse when he goes back to this...new him.”

“Do you dislike him now?”

“No! I mean, he's fine, I guess. Just...strange.”

“Steve.” Nat sighed. “Look, if he were just this random guy SHIELD had found, what would you be doing right now? How would you treat him?”

“Uh. I guess make sure he was comfortable. Try to get to know him a little.” Steve shook his head. “Nat, it's not the same. Even if Bucky isn't the same, we've still known each other since we were kids. I can't just pretend that away.” I loved him my whole life, and I want to love him again, Steve did not say.

“And you don't have to – hold on--” More punching sounds. “Ugh, people. Anyway, Steve, you don't have to ignore your whole history, but maybe just get to know the guy again? And let him get to know you.”

“I guess. What am I s'posed to do, though? He's pretty much stuck in bed right now. And it's not like I can ask if he's read any good books lately.”

“Steven, I know this is a radical notion, but why not be honest? That you want to get to know him again.”

“Well you're no fun.”

Nat laughed, and he heard a car door slam. “Look, remember when I was laid up last winter?”

Steve smiled. He had had one helluva meltdown because it _was_ his fault she got hurt, got yelled at by at least three people including a barely-conscious Natasha Romanoff, and had spent what felt like every free minute over two months sprawled in her bed with her, watching dumb TV, dumber YouTube videos, and telling each other only good memories. It had been the best winter of his life, he was pretty sure. “I remember. Got it, Nat.”

“Good. Look, I gotta drive numbnuts here to security, but keep in touch, okay? I wanna hear how you're sucking at being a friend for other people too.”

Steve grinned so hard his face hurt. “I miss you too, Natasha.”

“Shut up and go make googly-eyes at Barnes. And show him that Shia LeBoeuf video!”

“All right! I'll call you soon, promise,” Steve said, giving in and laughing.

“I'll kiss everyone at headquarters hello for you,” Nat promised.

“Especially Tony, please,” Steve requested, and hung up. Okay. Be friends. He could totally do this.

 

“Hey, you free?”

“Let me check my busy schedule yeah I think I can fit you in,” Bucky deadpanned, and Steve tried to ignore the flash of the asshole teenager who had said very nearly that to him, when he'd come over to find Bucky in bed with a sprained ankle. It was funny, that's all it needed to be.

“Look, I'm not the one with Tati putting me through bootcamp,” Steve said, holding his hands out. “You got shit to do, people to see...”

Bucky gave a raw laugh. His voice was rougher now.

Well, it might have been anyway. He was older, and he'd always smoked like a fuckin' chimney. Along with every other human being over the age of about fourteen, to be fair.

“Nah, the General already came by and put me through my paces. I got another round of x-rays, but not 'til later.”

“Mind if I visit for awhile?”

Bucky's eyes went blank for a moment, and he gave a one-armed shrug. “Suit yourself.”

Okay, so it wasn't the devotional declaration of love he wouldn't mind hearing, but it would do. Steve pulled up a chair and settled, sitting about even with Bucky's hips and facing him, so he wouldn't have to cant his eyes over to see him. “How you feeling?”

Bucky blinked, confused. “You don't get the daily reports?”

“No. Although even if I did, I'd still ask you.”

“But you're my CO! You should be kept informed of my condition.” Bucky's voice dropped into monotone. “Healing is proceeding as expected. Normal healing rates being achieved. Still on refeeding schedule. Deployment possible in four days, seven days recommended.”

“Thank you. But you won't be deployed, Bucky. Not ever again,” Steve said. “Remember?”

Bucky's brow wrinkled. “I...think so? I'm not with Hydra anymore. Right. I'm sorry.”

“It's okay,” Steve soothed, even though it absolutely wasn't. Bucky kept jumping from memory to memory, person to person. At least he seemed unafraid, although even that was wrong, somehow. Steve would have been – had been – suspicious as hell. “You escaped, and you're safe now. I'm glad you're healing well, but how do you feel?”

“Feel?”

“Are you in pain at all?” Steve asked, not actually sure if he was clarifying anything. “Is there anything you want?”

“No, thank you,” Bucky said with all the politeness Mrs. Barnes had raised all of her children with. “I'm all right.”

“Good. That's good.” Steve tried a smile, and found it came naturally. Bucky wasn't in obvious pain, at least. That was a good starting point.

“How are you?”

“Me?” Steve started, and gave Bucky an automatic reassuring smile. “I'm great. Grub here's some of the best I've ever had.”

“Your smile changed.”

“Huh?”

“Your smile. I remember. And also from the filmstrip. You used to grin, show all your teeth. Now you only smile with half your mouth.” Bucky frowned. “You're not okay.”

“I'm fine,” he said, and paused. “I've got a place to sleep and enough to eat.”

“But that's not the same thing at all.” Bucky rolled his eyes at the look Steve gave him. “I'm brain-damaged, not retarded.”

“Uh, that's not a word you're supposed to use anymore,” was all Steve could come up with.

“I'm sorry. My point still stands.” Bucky closed his eyes, then opened them. “You've never smiled like that before, Steve. Don't _lie_ to me.”

“Sam says I'm depressed.”

“Is Sam right?” Bucky asked, with way more patience than anyone should have with him.

“I got no right to be sad,” Steve insisted. “I got nothin' to complain about.”

“Steve I was fuckin' brainwashed, frozen, thawed, saw action in the European theater and I once fought a _bear_ and even _I_ know it's an illness, not a sign of weakness.”

“What, did Hydra have a top-notice psych unit?” Steve asked, more than a little waspishly. _Why_ were they talking about him again? Also he wanted to know more about the bear.

“No, but Hydra's asset ain't dumb. Couldn't be let off the leash for long, but I had a few short solo missions. You hear stuff. And it's still in there, even though it's kinda swiss-cheesed.”

“Oh.” Steve sort of wanted to take the 'ain't dumb' thing and run with it, but...maybe when he got to know Bucky a little better. When he could be sure it would be taken as the joke it was. “Uh.”

Bucky chuckled, and closed his eyes again.

“You sure you're okay?” Steve asked softly.

“Mmm. Tired. Look, I gotta eat, uh, 200 calories in forty-five minutes. Wake me up then?”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course Buck.” Steve couldn't stop a smile. And he was pretty sure it was with his whole mouth. He oughta take a picture for the know-it-all in the bed. “You take a nap, I'll wake you up in time.”

“Thanks,” Bucky said, and his breathing immediately deepened.

Steve settled into the chair, and just watched his chest rise and fall, and let the minutes fall away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Also if you think they both won't spend the rest of the story greeting Tati by bellowing the 'HERE COMES THE GENERAL' line from Hamilton, well....
> 
> dietraumerei.tumblr.com


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two men discuss business -- a promise is extracted -- the Sergeant muses on those around him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Hope you enjoy this one.
> 
> I'm a little writers-blocked, so chapters may slow to more like one a week for a little bit until I catch up. Or I'll write three chapters this afternoon; who knows with these things...
> 
> Also, as per a question on another one of my stories: concrit is welcome! Always! I am fairly thick-skinned at this point, though I would appreciate you making it *constructive* criticism. Also, I argue back, so.

Two men sat at the table in the semi-busy coffee shop. They were both technically dead, which made arranging meetings surprisingly easy.

“I told you they pulled a good espresso here,” one man said to the other.

“It's not bad,” the other man admitted.

“So how's the prodigal son?”

“In need of a new code name,” the second man said. “And McGarrity says he's still in a coma.”

“Do you believe her?” asked the first man. The second man shrugged.

“Does it matter?” He took another sip from the little espresso cup. “It's enough to keep SHIELD at bay.”

“ _She's_ enough to keep them at bay,” the first man said dryly. “I heard how your field trip went.”

“I love watching people learn. Gives me hope,” the second man said.

“Hm. So what if she's lying to us?”

“She has good reason to,” the second man said. “She's smart not to trust us.”

“You know, rewarding disloyalty isn't actually a positive trait,” the first man pointed out.

The second man shrugged. “Disloyalty, no. Sensible thinking, yes. I trust McGarrity to keep a weather eye on things. She'll tell us he's awake when it's a good time.”

“Describe a good time to learn to that the Winter Soldier is in US custody, but we can't actually put him on trial yet, or possibly ever,” the first man requested.

“Under current conditions? Never. But things change,” the second man said. “Patience is a virtue in our line of work.”

“Try telling that to some of my agents. Please, I'd like to see it.”

The second man just smiled, and finished his espresso. For such a large man, he melted into the crowd as soon as he left the table.

The first man ordered another coffee – a cappuccino this time – and sipped it, taking a little time to people-watch.

 

“Hello, we haven't met yet. I'm Agent Sarah McGarrity.”

“Ma'am.” Barnes shook her hand politely. “Pleased to meet you.”

“Likewise. How are you feeling?”

The man in the bed paused, and Sarah got the distinct feeling that he wasn't assessing how he felt so much as what he was supposed to say to this.

“As well as can be expected?” he tried.

“That's...good. I think.” She smiled politely at him. “Please don't hesitate to ask if there's anything you want. You're still on a special diet, but there seems to be a lot of leeway within that.”

“I like almonds,” Barnes offered.

Sarah made a mental note to check that with Steve, just to see if he had before. She was curious.

“Ma'am?”

“Yes, Sergeant?”

And suddenly he was _there_ , a personality, fierce blue eyes with a being behind them. “If I go wrong in the head, if I attack anyone here, you'll put me down. Correct?”

“Correct,” she said, without hesitation.

“Thank God. I know Tati and Lisle won't, maybe can't. You ever teach them to shoot? Never mind, they shouldn't. Steve _won't_ , 'cause he's got shit for brains. Sam shouldn't either. You, though. I trust you. You can fight and won't give a shit if Captain America gets pissy at you.”

“One shot,” she said. “I'll make it quick.”

“Just make it.” He paused. “I would appreciate the single shot, though, ma'am. Like Atticus Finch and the rabid dog.”

She smiled at the reference. “Before you got here, I'd say I was the deadest shot in this county.”

Barnes chuckled. “I can probably outshoot you at the moment, but not by much.”

Sarah shrugged and didn't comment. “You're healing with the expected speed now.”

“Yeah.” Something in him faded away and – Christ, she hoped it would come back, she actually _liked_ him. His brain damage was healing still, right? She'd have to corner Lisle about that one. He held up his right hand and wiggled the fingers. “Got one arm back now, at least.”

“We're arranging with Tony Stark to look at the scans of your left arm,” she said, hoping he'd remember this when the time came. “Perhaps we'll be able to do something about that.”

“Thank you,” Barnes said, polite and quiet and distant again. “Do you have any of the specs captured from Hydra? They conducted all repairs.”

“Some. They appear to be from a previous iteration of – sorry. Would you prefer I call it your arm, or your prosthetic? Or something else?”

“Prefer? Uh. Whatever you want to say is fine,” Bucky said, clearly scrabbling for a hand-hold.

“Your arm, then.” Hell, maybe she'd even give him a little sense of ownership over his own body. He was lacking a bit of that. “But what we have is certainly a starting point.”

Barnes smile politely, and Sarah, not one for small talk at the best of times, excused herself to return to her office, leaving Bucky to his own devices. At least the view from his bed was pretty.

 

He watched the woman leave, pleased that things had gone so well. He had carried on the conversation – barely, but still successfully – and he had confirmed what he thought. A lady in the mold of Peggy Carter, she was. He'd known a few of them, over the years, and was glad this one was in charge, in case the time-bomb that was his brain went off.

It worked. A good dynamic, here. Lisle, all mother-love and smart as a whip and not deserving of his fear. She warned him every time she touched him, every time something might hurt in the least bit. She talked to him, a lot, and didn't mind that he didn't talk back. She was...kind. That was the word for it. She didn't hurt, and apologized any time she thought she had. It was very kind of her.

He pulled his mind back on track – he was getting better at that. So there was the doctor, and Sarah who had the foresight to tie him down, who would take him out, and yet who welcomed him. Who was going to keep him healthy, even if it was so he could go to his death on two feet, eyes open and sure. She was hard, but good; a rare combination.

And Tati, who fit in the spaces between them. Who had already bossed him into light movements, just getting his limbs ready for when he had the strength and energy. She...was interesting. He had questions for her.

He dozed a little then, and only woke at the quiet alarm, telling him it was time for more food. He ate dutifully, then settled back on the pillows. His leg itched, and he wiggled his toes, pretending that might help. Also that always made Steve smile, even though he wasn't here.

Steve loved him. It was obvious. And he had loved Steve, once; he _remembered_ it. It was like pulling out clothes put away for winter, of course you always owned that linen shirt. Of course you always loved Steve Rogers; even separate from the fact that how could you not love someone who looked at you that way?

He smiled a little, and moved his toes, bent his good leg, ran through the little exercises Tati had showed him. He may have been a wreck of a man, but he _loved_ , and that counted for something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dietraumerei.tumblr.com


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony is a Good Science Bro -- Steve and Bucky make a Nerd Date -- Sarah Is A Bigger Peggy Carter Fangirl Than You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With this chapter, I'm going to switch to posting updates weekly, probably on Sundays. They're getting to be bloody long chapters, though!

“Okay, so it's not great news, but not terrible news either.” Tony was skyping in from his lab in New York, looking about as disheveled as usual on the laptop they'd set up by Bucky's bed. Lisle and Steve were with him – Lisle as his primary doctor, Steve because he'd asked to be and Bucky had agreed.

“That's...good?” Steve offered.

“Could be worse.” Tony shrugged and the view of him in his workshop was replaced by the schematic he'd created of Bucky's arm, based on some old Soviet files and Lisle's scans. The intricate technical illustration was attached to a stick figure with long hair and a decided frown.

'Murder face' had been scrawled on the image, with an arrow pointed to the figure's head.

Steve sighed loudly.

“I dunno, I kinda like it,” Bucky commented.

“ _Moving on_ ,” Lisle said. “Stark, don't make me regret you.”

“You love me. Right, so as we can see from the bits currently glowing – oh, lets make them blue – the metal arm is pretty thoroughly integrated with ol' murder face's body.”

“I didn't say you could call me that _all the time_ ,” Bucky said dryly. And then, softer, “Is that my arm? The organic one, I mean. The part in red.”

“You're less fun now. And, uh, yeah. There's not a whole lot there but there is bone and some muscle.” From the image, Bucky's arm survived, at least in part, almost halfway to his elbow.

Steve swallowed hard, and fought the urge to take Bucky's hand. It wouldn't help anything at the moment.

“It's completely integrated,” Lisle breathed. “Most of it can't even be removed.”

“That about covers it,” Stark admitted. “Whoever designed this meant for it to _stay_. There are metal components going deep into your body, well beyond what's visible on the surface. Most if it can't be replaced, which is kind of a pain, since it's currently entirely fucked up.”

“The body required added strength, to support the required range of motion and strength,” Bucky offered. “I was trained in some repair. I...remember how,” he said carefully, brow furrowing a little. “It will take approximately four days to get the requisite dexterity back in my right hand and arm.”

“Good to know, but only so much of this can be repaired in-situ.” The schematic vanished, and was replaced by Tony, looking tired and...kind, Steve finally settled on. Tony looked kind, and he started to worry. “We can't remove it, we can't replace it, we can't repair it. As it stands, your arm is always going to be a dead hunk of metal.”

Lisle's face hardened. “But the healing factor...”

“I'm getting to that! Jeez, I just wanted to get the bad news out the door first.” Tony ran his hand through his hair. “Look, we don't know _exactly_ how your healing factor works. Or how it interacts with the arm. I don't suppose you got that anywhere along the way?” he asked hopefully.

Bucky took a minute to consider. “No,” he finally said. “Repairs were carried out by the Asset or handler, as required. Damage to the non-mechanical parts of the body healed under sedation. The two components did not...interact.”

“Right.” Tony's mouth hardened a little. “Well, you're not under sedation, and you won't be. Repairs will be carried out by _me_ , and only with your permission.”

“Uh. Yes?” Bucky said, obviously guessing at what would be the right answer.

“I'll ask again when you have a concept of bodily autonomy. What I'm _hoping_ , though, is that the heavy integration means that your body will heal the metal elements while it's working on your squishy bits.”

“It's certainly not impossible...” Lisle gave Bucky a hard once-over, then returned to the schematic. “Stark, how much do you know about the actual point of interface between the metal and organic components?”

“It's your pretty standard myoelectric system...”

Steve went a little blank, although he was gratified to see Bucky following the conversation, clearly curious and clearly understanding. He had always loved science, loved the future, and been damned  _good_ at it. Maybe that would help, actually. He was still so dissociated, talking about 'the body', like it wasn't  _his_ .

“...the main issue is going to be supporting the fifty pounds of metal hanging off of you.” 

“Already sorted,” Lisle said, as Steve returned from woolgathering, summoned by the siren call of something new to worry about that concerned his friend. “Tati and I designed a support to strap the arm to Bucky's body, so all the weight isn't borne on the shoulder joint. You'll be able to take it on and off easily,” she explained, “so you can still use your arm when you need a weight or something.”

Bucky smiled a little, faintly. “I'm not exactly going anywhere in a hurry.”

“That'll change soon.” Lisle smiled back at him. “I want to run another set of x-rays, but going by the rate you were healing before, I expect we can get the neck brace off in the next day or so.”

Bucky's eyes went distant. “Cervical vertebrae were not badly damanged. No support required.”

“Yeah, but we've gone over how you're shit at self-assessment.”

“Dammit Jim, I'm a sniper, not a doctor,” Bucky informed the room, and Steve tried to figure out why Lisle almost fell off her chair laughing, and Stark's jaw dropped.

“Did you just make a _Star Trek_ _reference_? You are an Old. I don't believe it. Even Steve doesn't get it.”

“Steve got distracted by Star Wars _on your recommendation_ ,” Steve started to argue, trying not to puff up at Tony. 

“I got the fuckin' eidetic memory _too_ ,” Bucky said, and rolled his eyes. “One of my handlers liked to pass the time watchin' reruns in the early eighties.”

“This is the greatest thing I have ever witnessed,” Lisle wheezed. “Bucky, you are my favorite.”

Bucky smiled charmingly. Because of course he could be charming stuck in bed, skeletal, hooked up to IV's and barely able to move.

Steve took a moment to revel in feeling unloved and mildly bitter, then got back to business.

Stark and Lisle went back in forth over one or two other things that Steve didn't understand, and even Bucky seemed distracted.

“Hey,” Steve said softly, to get his attention, and smiled when Bucky's eyes canted over to meet his for a split second. “I haven't seen Star Trek yet. Wanna watch some later?”

Whatever spark was there – the Bucky of Steve's childhood – had faded though. “If you want to, sure?” Bucky said uncertainly, and Steve tried not to sigh, just reach out to this new person who was his friend too. Like Sam had suggested.

“Yeah, I'd like that. When we're done here?”

“I got PT with Tati, but after that?”

Steve smiled, because Bucky was still Bucky, still friendly, still  _trying_ . “Yeah. I'll come find you.”

“Probably better than the other way around.” And they smiled at each other.

 

“Hey Steve, you free for an hour or two?”

“Yeah, I guess?” He looked up from his book, blinking a little in the evening sunlight. “What do you need?”

“Nothing. But you haven't walked the bounds of the land here yet – want to join me and Sam?” Sarah asked.

“Sure?” Steve had talked a little with Sam about the land here, and the way this was a place not quite like any other. He didn't really get it, but it was keeping Bucky safe, so he wasn't going to question anything. Besides, it was a beautiful summer evening.

He and Sam followed Sarah down a narrow path, Queen Anne's lace lining either side. The path widened a little beyond a stand of birch trees. Where the big house was quiet, though – the woods were _noisy_. Not quite New York-noisy, but birdcalls rang out above Steve's head, and even the lightest breeze brought up a susurration of leaves rustling. The stream was too far off to hear just yet, but the amount of sound showed up how quiet Steve's life, mostly indoors and mostly by Bucky's bed, had been.

The path led them through a small meadow alive with wildflowers; Steve picked daisies and black-eyed susans, making a little bouquet for Bucky. Sam just smiled, and Sarah didn't comment; not like they didn't know he was pretty much lovesick anyway.

“I don't get to do this as often as I like,” Sarah commented, pulling down the branch of a holly tree to examine the shiny, dark leaves. “But you should walk the land as much as you can, both of you. And bring Bucky, when he's well enough.”

“We'll still be here when he can walk again?” Steve asked. Sarah was the type of lady to appreciate bluntness.

“Yes,” she said. “His body will heal long before his mind. And you and Sam need the care of this place too.”

“ _Sam_?” Steve turned to him, stricken. “What's wrong?”

“The same as always,” Sam said. “You know what it's like, Steve.” He shrugged. “Recovery isn't always a thing with an endpoint.”

“I know. I just...I'm sorry. You've given me everything, and I've been a pretty shit friend in return.”

“Ah, you're not so bad,” Sam teased. “I'd never have taken a vacation in the Berkshires on my own.” He was smiling, and jumped up to grab a low branch on an oak tree, and swung back and forth a little before letting go. “Sarah's right, though. We'll _need_ to be here for awhile.”

“I can't say I'm sorry,” Steve admitted. “I like it here.” He smiled a little. “Never tell Brooklyn I said that.”

“Your nature-loving secret is safe with me,” Sarah assured him.

“How long have you worked here?” Steve asked, as the path brought them to a new meadow, this one with poppies. His bouquet grew a little.

“Five years here, ten with SHIELD. I joined up about ten seconds after I finished my Master's,” Sarah admitted.

“You liked SHIELD that much?” Steve asked, and sighed when Sam started snickering. “ _What?_ ”

“Wilson, be nice. Steve, you're not missing a cultural thing this time, I promise.” Sarah sighed. “I did. I do? I did at the time. My degree is in history, actually.” She smiled wryly. “Specifically the early history of the SSR.”

“Oh.” Steve added some more daisies. “That's neat.”

“Ask her what her thesis was on!” Sam sang out.

“If you weren't amazing at breakfasts _and_ a godsend to Lisle, I would tie you up and leave you in a tree,” Sarah threatened idly.

“You wish. Go on, ask her!”

Steve gave Sam an odd look. “Sarah, what was your thesis on?”

Sarah groaned and covered her face, and Steve gave in and laughed. “It's okay if it was about me. You wouldn't be the first person I met who knew more about me than I did. You wouldn't be the tenth.”

“No, it isn't that,” Sarah mumbled into her hands.

“What then? Some early sex scandal or something?”

“No it was on Peggy Carter and her rise to power in the SSR,” Sarah informed her hands, _very_ quickly.

That stopped Steve in his tracks, his smile growing. “Really?”

“Really.” She looked up and met his eyes, blushing. Steve hadn't even suspected she _could_ blush. “I've been...obsessed, with Peggy Carter since I was a little girl. I started on those dumb novels they wrote about her, which were _shockingly_ inaccurate I might add, and then I read every biography I could get. And every history of the SSR. And anything else that might mention her.” Sarah sighed, and smiled. “I knew I was going to devote myself to what she created. I couldn't _not_. And it was the natural thing, to go into the very roots of SHIELD and look at how she overcame _absolutely everything_ being against her, turned it all into weapons, and created this...thing.”

Steve's grin was  _huge_ , he was certain. “Whatever you read, I promise she was braver, smarter, fiercer and more kickass in life.”

Sarah laughed. “Oh, I'm damned sure. She was a helluva lady. I met her once,” she added, a little shyly. “While I was doing my Master's. I have no idea why she agreed to meet with me, but I had a few questions and she agreed to answer them. I could only spend an hour with her, and she was already, um, having trouble with time. But she was sharp as a tack.”

“I'll believe it,” Steve said, with that same sharp-sweet feeling in his heart Peggy always brought up. She'd passed away over a year ago, now. He missed her approximately every waking minute of his life, and half of the sleeping ones.

“What...what was she like to work with?” Sarah asked.

“Extraordinary. She believed in me when almost no one else did,” Steve said, following Sarah down a narrow section of path, the trees thick around them now. “Her, Bucky and Dr. Erskine were the only people who thought I could be useful even before the serum.”

“Seriously?” Sam asked. “That's...horrible.”

“I'll remind you you said that next time you get on me for being fighty,” Steve said, adding a few ferns from the undergrowth to his bouquet. It was getting to be a good size.

“You are hilarious,” Sam deadpanned. “Was she really a full member of the Howlies?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Steve and Sarah chorused, and grinned at each other.

“Oh my God, yes,” Steve clarified. “You would never have known I was the commanding officer, by the way.”

“Her tactical sense was...brilliant is the only word,” Sarah said, eyes glowing. “Sam, the things she could come up with, the way she used any weakness on her side as an _offensive weapon_...no one else stood a chance.”

“She taught me how to fight,” Steve said proudly.

“Oh my _God_ ,” Sarah sighed. “We are sparring, first chance we get.”

“You're on.” Steve grinned, and laughed at the look on Sam's face. “What?”

“You two. You're such fangirls.” Sam laughed at the look Sarah shot him. “That's not a bad thing! She was a fantastic lady. But I don't think I've ever seen the two of you light up like that.”

“Bite me. Oh! Was the story with the cow and the lingerie true?”

“The one in Dorset? Yeah, that happened.”

Sarah looked like Christmas had come early. “Yes! She wouldn't confirm or deny it for me! Did you know she was at Bletchley?”

“ _No_. Seriously? I mean, I'm not surprised...” Steve trailed off, grinning proudly. His best girl was at Bletchley Park. How about that.

“None of them broke their silence,” Sam offered, sounding proud and satisfied. “No one who worked at Bletchley ever told anyone what they did there until it was officially revealed. She would never have let you know what she did, before the SSR.”

“I didn't even know about Bletchley until I started catching up,” Steve admitted. “There was never even a hint of the codebreaking they did.”

“The safety of total silence, and total secrecy.” Sarah smiled, and led them around a fallen tree. “I might have adopted a variation of that, for this place.”

“How many people know we're here?” Steve asked quietly.

“Twelve,” Sarah said calmly. “And it would have been less, if I'd had my way. Incidentally, most of them are still under the impression that Sergeant Barnes remains in a coma.”

“How long can you keep that up?” Sam asked, clearly impressed.

“Not much longer,” she admitted. “But it bought us time. I don't lie, but...implying does a lot.” She shrugged. “Too many people at SHIELD think the Sergeant is a wild animal, or a docile, broken doll. They can't imagine a _person_.”

Steve's jaw worked. “I suppose that's good for us. For him.”

“Mmm.” 

Sam asked another question about Peggy, and later Steve worked out that it was very calculated, considering it sent him and Sarah raving and comparing notes and memories until the path and the nearly-set sun brought them back to the big house.

“You really believe in protecting people, don't you?” Steve asked, just before he and Sarah parted ways to go to their respective rooms.

“With any means necessary,” she said simply. “That is what we were made for. What SHIELD is for, I mean. And that is what this place exists for.”

“I hope Peggy was as pleased to meet you as you were to meet her,” Steve said, and leaned over and kissed Sarah on the cheek. “Thank you. See you at dinner?”

“Dinner,” Sarah agreed, utterly failing to be thrown off by the kiss.

“She's like you, but sensible,” Sam observed.

Steve shook his head. “No, she's not. She's  _like me_ . Sense...can't come into it, when it comes down to the wire. Not when there's someone, or someones, to protect.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I am on tumblr too (dietraumerei.tumblr.com) where I occasionally post things other than pictures of Sebastian Stan. Sometimes.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Steve is greedy - Bucky is still terrible at anything medical -- Sarah should have known better

Bucky looked up at the tapping on his door and waved Steve in. “Hi.”

“Hey. Look at you!” Steve laughed and came over to stand by the bed – a _real_ bed, not a hospital one, all warm red-brown wood and a cheerful yellow comforter and about a thousand pillows. “Bucky, you look great.”

Bucky smiled up at him. “Thanks. Yeah, I'm...doing better. No more IV's. And Tati thinks I might be able to start on normal meals soon.”

“Lisle said you were getting the cast off today, and your neck is really healed up?” Steve asked, settling in a chair that was left by the bed.

“Yeah. I _told_ her.” She'd taken the neck brace off the night before for x-rays, and not put it back on yet. He intentionally held still and was very careful with moving his neck whenever she was around him, but she hadn't made any noises about putting it back on. So maybe he was okay.

Bucky got distracted a moment, running over these details. Only 100% healing was acceptable, then. Support was to be continued until that point. He would have to sleep more, increase time and energy for healing the bones in his leg. (He checked, the mental run-through he could do less and less well these days. Bones 90% reknit,  _no support needed_ Lisle, this cast  _itches_ get it off.)

Bucky came back to himself with a little jolt, but it didn't matter, since Steve was just cooing over him some more. He did that a lot. It was kind of charming, if weird.

“How are you?” Bucky interrupted.

“Me? I'm fine, Buck, why wouldn't I be?”

Bucky gave him his very best Soviet customer-service look.

“Aw, gimme a break.”

Bucky gave him his very best imitation-of-his-mother look.

“Christ, that's terrifying.”

Bucky smiled.

“I'm...okay,” Steve finally said. “I'm sleeping more. Sarah says there's someone I should talk to, says this lady'll help me.” He smiled a little. “You gotta talk to her too, sounds like.”

“Oh.” Bucky honestly had no idea what to think about that. What was there to talk _about_? He was healing. He was functioning, better than he had in a long time. “That's good you're sleeping more.”

“Yeah.” Steve shrugged. “Hey, you wanna go outside? The roses in your garden are real nice.”

“Okay,” Bucky said. He was still banned from putting any weight on his leg (even though it was _fine_ , _God_ Lisle and Steve and Sam and everyone else who had given him the kicked-puppy look), and he needed Steve's help to get into the wheelchair he tried not to use but. Okay. Steve was thoroughly professional, Sam had coached him how to help Bucky move, and there was _nothing_ there but also...Steve was warm, and gentle, and he smiled at Bucky as soon as he was settled and Bucky--

Bucky smiled back, and it was weird to feel his face go so soft, but it was so nice too. He used to look like this all the time. And it set off a feedback loop, apparently, because Steve's face got all soft and goofy and smiling too, which just made Bucky smile more because apparently he had a Pavlovian response to making Captain America happy.

So they just grinned at each other for a stupid amount of time before Steve fussed a little further, making sure Bucky was comfortable. He was wearing ridiculously soft shorts and a t-shirt he was pretty sure had been Sam's and was barefoot in summer. He was well-fed, and clean, his hair soft and pulled back off of his face in a high bun. There was literally no way he  _couldn't_ be comfortable, but Steve had to fuss anyway, making sure the footplate was at a good height and that Bucky's left arm was snug in the wrap Tati and Lisle were trying out, bound tight to his torso so that the weight wasn't all on the shoulder joint. Like dumb little things like that would make a difference in being safe. (He was getting better at  _safe_ . Free was going to be a long time coming.)

In the amount of time it had taken Bucky to change the course of European history  _several_ times over, Steve satisfied himself that things were just about acceptable, and sat back to smile up at Bucky. “Everything good?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, and meant it.

He started to drift a little when Steve pushed him outside. Had Hydra done something similar? Not with such care, not even close. Well, maybe a few of the early handlers had at least orbited kindness. When everything was still new, for everyone. When the Soviet dream was still possible; he had been treated better then. He was freshly broken, pliable and afraid, and grain yields were up. There was a future, so why not?

Bucky started to think in Hungarian – of course. '56, things had gone cautiously well for their side. But the dream was starting to fall apart, and his handler, the one that had come closest to being kind, had been killed. A boy. Vishnevskaya? Yeah. S zerencsétlen fiú…

Roses. At his funeral? No, of course the Asset would have been on ice, or elsewhere. You couldn't bring a weapon to a  _funeral_ . Such things did not belong. 

No, right. Now. Bucky blinked and thought in English again – well, he was pretty sure – and desperately hoped he hadn't missed anything. Steve was just maneuvering him into place next to a huge rosebush, though, so...probably not.

“Wow.” Okay, they actually were beautiful. “What...month is it?”

“It's June 24th, Buck.” Steve smiled. “We've got nearly the whole summer still. Remember when school would just be letting out around now?”

“Kind of?” Bucky concentrated, turned inward to memories he had worked to ignore. And. Oh. “Your birthday is soon.”

“Oh, yeah.” Steve shrugged. “Guess so.”

Bucky snorted. “My ass.” He should...get Steve something? “What d'you want?”

Steve stared at him. “Are you serious.”

“Steven. _What_ do you _want_. For your birthday?”

Steve's eyes actually bugged out. “How in the fuck are you gonna get me a birthday present?”

Bucky gave him an unimpressed look. “You get your best friend back from the dead and you want something else  _too_ ?”

Steve actually sputtered, and Bucky sort of hoped they actually  _were_ being surveilled, because this – this was a thing of beauty that he wanted recorded for all time. Steve wasn't going to mistake 'injured and brain-damaged and admittedly kind of easily unstuck in time' for 'a humorless lump of sadness' for much longer, and Bucky was going to have his fun while he could.

“You. You. You are.”

“Yes?” Bucky asked sweetly.

“Oh for the _fuck_ of _shit._ ” And Steve carefully lay down so he could laugh long and deep in comfort.

Bucky leaned over and smiled brightly down at him, enjoying how he made Steve laugh even harder, the belly-deep shouts coming out of him, and he gave in and laughed too, marveling at how they must look. Two dumbasses out of time, Bucky looking like death warmed over, laughing their asses off together in the shadow of a rosebush, the air perfumed with flowers and lavender and summer.

 

Bucky tried to look over Lisle's shoulder without her noticing, and failed utterly.

“James Barnes, if you do not lie down and leave me alone for forty seconds, I shall revoke dessert privileges.”

“I'm still fifteen pounds off of being normal weight,” he brightly reminded her, and grinned when she gave him a dirty look. “Sorry.”

“No you're not. Here, I'll show you what I'm going over.” She sat on the edge of the massage table (covered with an old chintzy blanket to make it as un-Hydra as possible) and set the StarkPad on Bucky's lap. “These are the x-rays of your leg. We can definitely take the cast off and you can start weight-bearing exercises, but you'll need to wear a brace for a little while still.”

“That's not so bad.” Bucky tilted his head to one side, examining the ghostly image. He'd never seen such a thing before, although they must have x-rayed him. Right? It was kind of interesting, to be able to see his own bones.

“That's _fantastic_ ,” Lisle corrected him, and elbowed him gently. “Bucky, you're doing really, really well.”

Bucky shrugged. The serum was doing really, really well, he was just along for the ride. But he smiled, because it made Lisle happy, and she deserved it.

“We'll get the cast off, then scan your leg so we can print a brace for it. Tati can meet with you while I take care of that, and help you get adjusted.” Sarah paged through Bucky's scans, though not too quickly for him to follow. 

The Asset sat quietly. It was safest that way, while the doctors worked.  _They_ weren't armed, but there would be people, people he couldn't see right now, who were. Not with guns; that didn't stop him. But with the high-power tasers that did work on him. With syringes. They could get the Asset into a chair and wiped within fifteen minutes, if they didn't mind having a drooling, screaming wreck to shove into cryo.

The Asset was polite, but watched and waited. Enough healing had been achieved that cryo would come next.

No, wait. There wasn't cryo anymore.

Bucky shook his head, and tried to think.

“Hey, everything okay?” Lisle asked. She was standing now, the StarkPad put away, and a tray beside her. Bucky flinched.

“Where are you?” Lisle asked.

“...America,” Bucky tried. It was worth a guess.

“That's right. Do you know where?”

The air smelled like a hospital, but also sunshine. “New York. I'm...I'm so sorry. I forgot.” Bucky rubbed his eyes, and the Asset blinked a few times. “I'm...oh,  _hell_ .”

“Breathe like Sam taught you,” Lisle said, perching on the side of the massage table. “Remember? Nice and slow. Okay.” She waited until he'd finished three rounds of slow, counted breathing. “You're James Buchanan Barnes. You were a prisoner of Hydra, but you escaped. You're recovering at a SHIELD facility in upstate New York.”

“Is Steve here?” Bucky frowned. “He is, right?”

“He is,” Lisle confirmed. “Do you want me to send for him?”

Yes. “God, no, he worries too much as it is.”

Lisle snickered at that. “Well, your actual memory isn't too bad.”

“It's not that I forget, exactly,” Bucky tried to explain. “It's more like...right now. I know where I am. I remember being the Winter Soldier, but I remember being Bucky Barnes, too. I'm both of them now,” he said softly. “I can choose how to behave. I remember all of it. But sometimes I get confused? I don't know. I don't know,” he repeated.

“It's okay. We'll work it out. How do you feel?” Lisle asked, trying to soothe.

“Feel? Uh. I feel fine, thank you.” Bucky paused. “How are you?”

“Thirsty, actually. Would you like some tea? I'll make us a pot.”

“Tea?” Bucky's brow wrinkled. “You're a doctor, you have important things to do.”

“Mmm. You're an important thing,” Lisle pointed out.

Bucky was quiet for a little while, clearly trying to figure out the situation. “My leg,” he finally said. “It's better.”

“Yes, the bones have nearly healed,” Lisle agreed. “You still need a little time, to finish that and to get back to full strength.”

“But that doesn't matter. You don't understand,” Bucky said, for lack of anything better to say. “I don't need time. The body heals itself.”

“Technically, yes,” Lisle agreed. “I understand enough, though. You could go out on a mission right now and complete it. But if you rest, and are given care, your long-term healing is speeded. You will be stronger, healthier. Your brain will have a chance to heal as well as your body.”

“Oh.” Bucky was aware that this was probably the truth, but he didn't _understand_. What did they want him for? “I'm sorry, you should go make tea, if that's what you want.”

“I think a break would help,” Lisle said gently. “I'll be right back, okay? And I'll go over what's going to happen this afternoon while we share a cup, all right?”

Bucky nodded, and lay quietly while Lisle ducked into the tiny kitchenette in the next room. He could escape pretty easily. But why? What would the point be?

The tea was good. He remembered, he had really only liked coffee until Peggy had taught him how to brew tea correctly. Lisle was cheerful and calm, and that helped. She explained how her StarkPad doubled as a 3-D scanner, so they could get an exact measurement of his leg.

Bucky watched her work, curious and thoughtful, and smiled when she wiped his bare leg down and helped him bend it, her hands warm and strong. She took the scan and showed him how the brace would work, and checked if he needed anything else.

“Tati'll be in in a moment to start you on the next phase of physical therapy. And also, frankly, to keep you company while Sarah and I work on the brace,” Lisle admitted, and Bucky smiled.

“Thank you. Really Lisle, thank you. For everything.”

Lisle just smiled and squeezed his shoulder, and headed out.

Huh. That felt almost...normal. He hadn't even thought of all the ways she was making herself vulnerable to him. Of course, there would be protections he couldn't see, but for the moment, they weren't needed.

 

Sarah checked her e-mail again, and made a face when nothing had changed. Still that snotty e-mail at the top of the list.

_Isn't he awake yet? or dead?_

She rolled her eyes, and went to type a reply.

_Why do you ask? What business is it of yours?_

The reply came within five minutes.

_Agent McGarrity, you may have fiat there, but not beyond the front gate. Justice is still a thing for us mere mortals._

_Also, we note that your food deliveries increased in size as of several days ago. By a volume similar to a refeeding schedule formulated for an individual of very high metabolism._

Oh for fuck's sake, Tati had  _said_ they should shop for Bucky themselves, but he needed special food, stuff they couldn't just pick up in town and all right. She could still keep him off-limits. The guy couldn't even walk under his own power. (Well, she was pretty sure he  _could_ , but only by calling on all of the Winter Solider parts of him, and ignoring the mortal Sergeant Barnes.)

She composed an e-mail, to send to the highest-ranking individuals in SHIELD that she trusted. (Much to her surprise, there  _were_ more than one of them.)

_The Sergeant is conscious, but still in need of medical intervention. He will remain in our facility until further notice. I trust that you will obey protocol in this as in all things. It is imperative that his recovery is allowed to take its course. It is imperative that the land is left alone._

She sent the e-mail, and pushed back from her desk, retrieving a pistol and hip holster. She didn't have time to walk the boundary, but could check the path to the front gate again, at least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed it! Next chapter should go up next Sunday.
> 
> dietraumerei.tumblr.com


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On Grief, Friendship, and Imaginary Horses - a secret is found out - Steve thinks Heinlein is a little weird but okay - a Plan B is permitted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ha ha remember when the chapters on this thing were like 1000 words long? *crazed laughter*
> 
> (PS, this is the chapter where I also remind you that we are already believing in people who have extraordinary powers, etc., so we are all gonna have to suspend a little disbelief when it comes to, say, the range of abilities of all the ladies at this place. Tati in particular goes well beyond a physical therapist alone, and I'm hoping that her combination of skills is unusual, but not totally impossible. You'll see.)

Steven Grant Rogers was the worst friend. The _worst_. He had the most amazing people in his life, and he was a giant bag of dicks.

At least he was  _realizing_ it, even if he could have probably pulled his head out of his ass (or Bucky's ass no don't  _go_ there, brain) quite a bit sooner. But Sam was really good at fronting and taking care of himself, so maybe...

Nah. He was a bag of dicks.

“Hey,” Steve said, after knocking on Sam's door and sticking his head in at the called welcome. “You wanna go for a walk? Tati said there's horses next door if we follow the west path to the fenceline.”

“Steve. Steve, my precious city baby.” Sam lowered the journal he was reading. “Since when did you care about horses? Also, it's about to rain.”

“So wear a hat, it's summer, y'ain't gonna freeze to death,” Steve said with a shrug. “And I dunno. Thought you might like to see something uglier'n me.”

Sam snorted. “It's cute when you think you're being clever. But all right. I'll get dressed.”

It was midafternoon; Sam was usually up and dressed by seven.  _Steve was such a bag of dicks_ .

Sam hauled himself up from the sofa, moving slower than usual, his shoulders hunched. Steve didn't comment, though, just settled down while Sam got into something that would survive the high grass of the fields, and then they headed out.

“Bucky asleep?” Sam asked.

“No, no, he's pretty much up all day, lately,” Steve said. “Tati had him walkin' in circles this morning, I think he's planning to become one with Netflix.”

“Heh. You showed him the list I made for you?” Sam asked.

“We're working through it,” Steve promised. “Indiana Jones was fantastic, but why do you only list three of 'em?”

“Because I choose to live in a timeline in which there were only three films,” Sam said smoothly, as they followed a path through some of the gardens.

Steve wrinkled his nose. “Is this like the Star Wars thing?”

“Pretty much.”

Steve sighed.

“Aw, suck it up. I'm saving you from a world of hurt.”

And the thing was, Sam  _was_ . And not just from movies. Sam had been the most amazing friend, and Steve...had been distracted. Was the most charitable way to put it.

“Sam, are you doing okay?” he blurted out, because why not. They were out of the gardens now, and into a meadow, the path cutting through grass grown knee-high.

“Steve, you are _terrible_ at this.”

“I can recognize someone dissembling when I see it, though.” Steve paused, and turned to look Sam in the eye. “Seriously. Something's got you down.”

Sam shrugged. “Just life. It happens, you know how it is.”

“Yeah,” Steve said softly. “I do. Anything I can do to help?”

Sam smiled, and shook his head. “Man, you got enough to do.”

“And a lot of time to do it in.” That didn't even make _sense_ , and Steve shook his head. “Sam, you know you're my friend. I can make time for you.”

Sam was quiet for a little, as they walked through the path. It wasn't one that was used a lot; they couldn't walk side-by-side. They went through a stand of beeches, though, tall and graceful and with smooth silver bark, and Steve made a mental note. It would be worth coming back, especially to climb the trees.

“D'you miss Peggy?” Sam finally asked. He was circling around to his point, but Steve reckoned this wasn't a bad place to start. 

“Every day,” he said, and meant it.

And –  _oh_ .

“You missing Riley?” he asked softly.

“Every day,” Sam said, and Steve's heart broke.

“I'm sorry,” he said, because that was what you said when your friend was aching with mourning. “Do you...wanna talk about him?”

Sam turned around and gave Steve a tired smile. “Not really, but thanks. I'd rather talk about anything else, to be honest.”

“Okay. We'll do that.” They paused to clear a fallen tree-limb off of the path, the two of them heaving it into the underbrush nearby.

“What was it like, growing up in the Cold War?” Steve asked.

“Seriously?”

“I'm curious! Honest, Sam. It's this whole huge cultural _thing_ that I missed entirely. What was it like?” Steve repeated.

Sam laughed. “I don't know. It just...was. There was a fallout shelter sign on my school, that was kinda weird, looking back on it.”

“What?”

“Yeah.” Sam warmed to his topic, and the path was wide enough for them to walk side-by-side now, shoulders bumping a little. “The idea was if the US got bombed, it was a safe place to shelter.

Steve considered this for a moment. “That... _what_ ?”

“Yeah, I know. Remind me sometime to tell you about 'duck and cover'. Before my time, but the same idea.”

“Oh my God.” Steve couldn't help but laugh. “Jesus. Okay, so you had comforting myths...”

“Shut up, everyone has those!” Sam grinned at him. “Yes, we were under the impression that radiation sickness wasn't a thing or whatever. But the fear was there, too. There was...kind of a cultural undercurrent, that you knew the world could end at any moment.”

“Seriously?” Steve asked.

“Seriously. And I remember...not so much the start of the AIDS epidemic, but the middle, when everyone was dying,” Sam said softly. “That fed into that feeling too, I guess.”

“Did you lose anyone?” Steve asked. Bringing the conversation back around to death probably wasn't helping, but he wanted to _know_.

“Yeah, an auntie and uncle.”

“I'm so sorry,” Steve said as gently as he could, and Sam accepted it with a smile and a shrug.

“Thanks. So, yeah. I mean, I was a kid, I mostly wanted to wear neon everything and not do homework. But that was always there, that sense of...the inevitable.”

“Wow.” Steve paused so they could walk up a low rise, the fence now visible across a field. “So, uh, how many photos of you wearing neon are there? Ballpark number.”

“ _So many_. I was a spoilt little kid.” Sam gave him a long-suffering look. “You're gonna call my mom and get them from her, aren't you?”

“Your mother is a saint, and you don't call her enough so I gotta make up for it,” Steve said with great dignity and firm belief. “Also yes.”

Sam groaned. “ _Steve_ . She'll guilt me about something you say when I talk to her.”

“'s not my fault you don't feed me right,” Steve teased. “And I really do wanna ask for her biscuit recipe. You think she'll give it to me?”

Sam blinked. “Steve, you know it's the recipe on the baking powder box, right?”

“Way to kill my dreams, Wilson.”

“Dude, you think everything tastes amazing.” Sam checked the fence to make sure it wasn't electrified, then climbed up onto the bottom rung, leaning against the top of it.

“It _does_! Everything tastes fantastic! Honest, Sam, have you ever seen a cookbook from the forties?” He continued at Sam's head-shake. “Everything was boiled to death. And unless you'd recently emigrated – and _not_ from Ireland – spices and strong flavors weren't really a thing. Maybe if you went to the German food halls, but even they were getting pretty scarce by my time.”

“What did a vegetable ever do to you people?” Sam asked. “Also I'm making you jambalaya.”

“Sam, I had to eat a ton of liver every day, until someone invented iron pills.” Steve grinned. “Don't suppose I could get you to teach me how to cook some decent stuff?”

“Do you really want to learn, or are you just trying to distract me?”

“How 'bout both?”

Sam laughed, and allowed it. “Are there really horses around here?”

“What? Oh, no. I just needed a good excuse,” Steve admitted.

“Did Captain America just admit to _lying_ ,” Sam said, and gasped. “I will tell my mother.”

“Sam, no!” Steve was only mildly ashamed to feel himself begging as they turned to walk back to the big house. They followed the fence north, to the main road. “Don't tell her, please? 'sides, it was for a good cause.”

“Still. I am shocked – _shocked_.” Sam clutched his chest, in order to heighten the impression. It didn't really work.  


“Uh huh.” Steve gave him an unimpressed look. “You really think another farm would butt right up against the land here? Nah, that's some random government-owned buffer between us and the outside world.”

“Can't say I mind having it there,” Sam admitted, and Steve nodded.

“Yeah, me either. Just feels...safer. You know?”

“I know,” Sam agreed. They were safe, here in this place of trees and the soft drizzle, almost more of a mist. If it got really chilly, someone would light a fire in the living room they all drifted in and out of.

They walked home together, mostly quiet now, but comfortable with each other.

 

“Hey, how you feeling today?” Tati asked, letting herself into Bucky's room. He was still in bed, but sitting up and was messing around with Steve's StarkPad, just playing a simple colors game.

“Um, all right thank you. How are you?” Bucky was still pretty clearly getting used to someone giving a damn about him. It was kind of neat to see how he reverted to formal politeness with all of them, except for Steve and sometimes Sam. (It was heartbreaking, actually, especially to see how cautiously he held himself around Lisle, who was the only person Tati had ever met who didn't kill spiders when she found them inside, for heaven's sake.)

Tati made a face. “Better after a night's sleep. How've you been sleeping, by the way?”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “You haven't been monitoring that on your own?”

“Honey, you think I got time to watch you dream?” Tati grinned to soften the words. “Look, I know you have no reason to believe me, and I don't blame you. _I_ wouldn't believe me, but we're not monitoring you in here. There are sensors in the doors and windows so we can tell when people enter and leave, and there's cameras at the front door and the main road, but that's it.”

“Are you all simple-minded?”

Tati laughed out loud. “No, I swear! If it helps, Sarah would rather have cameras and microphones and things everywhere, but we tried that. They all break or fail or something within a day.”

Bucky blinked. “Have you considered changing suppliers?”

“You know, I really like you.” Tati perched cross-legged on a chair next to Bucky's bed. “We _did_ , obviously, and ask Sarah about that sometime but maybe get her a drink first because it turns out that the bureaucracy in SHIELD is basically just as terrible as anywhere else, and changing suppliers takes an act of _several_ gods.”

Bucky snorted. “Please remember that I was technically owned by the Soviet government, and tell me about paperwork. If you've read my files, you'll know I was lent out to the Chinese government once.  _Once_ .”

Tati snickered. “Nice. Also, good job distracting me, A-plus-plus Sergeant. How did you sleep?”

Bucky's face went blank. “Why does it matter?”

“Because it'll affect what we do today; I wanna go through some diagnostic tests to see where your cognitive abilities are. And because I _care_ , Bucky. Even you need to sleep,” she said. “I want to know how you're doing, because I can help a lot of things, and I _want_ to.”

Bucky gave her an uncertain look. “I slept nine hours.”

“And?” Tati could do this _all_ day.

“Nightmares,” Bucky said quietly, eyes canting away. He'd started doing that from the very first, and Tati had thought it was just because he hadn't been able to turn his head. It looked like a deeper tic, though, something he had learned before. Maybe while restrained? Was this the only way Bucky could protect himself, sometimes?

“I'm sorry, honey,” she said gently.

“No. I...they're all of things I did,” Bucky said, his voice low and steady. “None of it's made up or proof my mother didn't hug me enough or whatever. It's all the faces. All the...everything.”

“I'm so sorry,” Tati said. “You don't deserve that, Bucky. You didn't do anything to deserve the nightmares.”

“But I _killed_ them,” he said, sounding desperate and still, still not looking at her.

“Did you want to?”

“At the time? Yes.” He turned a horrible smile to her, finally. “Are you disgusted with me yet?”

“No, actually.” Tati shifted her legs; her hips were beginning to ache fuck no _no_ don't you dare betray me, body. We are gonna get through the next few hours and then you can fall apart. “You put a pretty big rider on that, Bucky. At the time isn't now.”

“But I still...I was _satisfied_. I did well.”

“Just out of curiosity, were you ever rewarded?” Tati asked. 

“Rewarded?” Bucky echoed, and his brow wrinkled a little. “I was given harder tasks. No one was as good as I was.”

“Hm. No women? Or men? Not better food or a bath or better quarters?”

Bucky gave her a weird look. “No. I did it all for the glory of the Party. For making the world better.” He jolted, catching himself. “Except I didn't, did I?”

Honey, the way Steve looks at you, you make  _his_ world better every time you take another breath Tati thought and did not say because ew  _gross gross ugh_ Lisle was rubbing off on her. “Bucky, I'm not gonna lie to you. I am a simple lady with simple needs, like getting us through the next few hours and then seeing how much ice cream I can eat in a single sitting. The big stuff like this, you gotta talk to someone else to get a better answer out of. But I'll tell you, for myself, that I think the fact that you were tempted with making the world better, setting things right – that says a whole lot of good about who you are deep down.” Tati gave him a look that hopefully communicated  _do not blow my devil-may-care sarcastic cover you equally-sarcastic bastard_ , and Bucky gave her a quick nod.

“Right, _anyway_. Gimme your StarkPad, I can access all the tests I need from there.” She made grabby-hands and Bucky handed it over.

“Before we begin, you comfortable? We can take breaks whenever, but let me know if you want some water or tea or whatever now, or if you need to get more comfortable,” she ordered, going onto the intranet and pulling up her volume. She debated skipping the most basic tests, but decided to be thorough, just in case. Bucky was clever, and could and would cover for it if something was seriously wrong.

“I'm...fine.” Bucky pushed himself a little further upright, and rearranged the pillow under his right knee. Maybe for show, but Tati desperately hoped it was actually to make himself more comfortable. She shifted again, her hips still aching. Well, fuck.

“Okay. I know these are gonna be stupidly easy for you at first, but just go with it, okay? I want to get plenty of data. And this isn't, like, an exam in school,” she said, careful to make eye contact. “Nothing you do is a wrong answer, Bucky. It's just a way to gather more information. I won't be upset or angry or _anything_ like that with you. I can't give you the answers, obviously, but I'll be right here and I can help you with some things, like explaining what you need to do. And we can take a break whenever you need to. I can't stay past three, but we can always finish up tonight or, preferably, tomorrow. Good?”

Bucky nodded and got to work. Tati watched him, but he quickly figured out the first few tests and completed them perfectly.

He worked steadily for fifteen minutes, more or less producing what she'd expected. He had  _amazing_ spatial reasoning, excellent logic, completed simple math problems more or less instantly. Tati didn't doubt that she could give him difficult math problems, and he'd complete them in the same amount of time – Steve had mentioned that Bucky had always been good with numbers.

He slowed a little in some places, but not unduly so, and Tati was quietly hopeful that they might finish early. She could run through a few more things, make sure Bucky did his exercises, and then go become one with her bed, maybe even with a spoon or two left.

Then they hit the first test with words, and Bucky paused, hesitating.

“You just have to group them into how many letters they have,” Tati explained, and Bucky nodded. He worked slowly, but accurately. Interesting.

A few more minutes, and there was an exercise that involved arranging short sentences into a logical order, and Bucky stopped dead.

“It's just like the pictures you did earlier.”

Bucky bit his lip, and arranged the tiles on the screen. He got them completely wrong. Now that was  _weird_ .

“Hey honey, should I switch to Cyrillic and Russian-language? Would that help?”

“Maybe?” Bucky was worrying at his lower lip with his teeth.

Tati took the pad back and made the appropriate changes. She watched over Bucky's shoulder again, the little alphanumeric code in the upper corner telling her that he'd gotten the tiles completely wrong again.

“Bucky, can you read each sentence to me? Russian or English, doesn't matter.”

Bucky lowered his head and looked away. “No,” he said quietly.

“Okay.” Tati rested her hand on his back, rubbing very softly. “It's okay. Oh, sweetie. How long have you known you couldn't read?”

Bucky shrugged. “When did I wake up?”

“Oh, _sweetie_.” Tati moved her hand when Bucky shrank away from her even more. She was not a very cuddly person, but goddamn if she didn't want to scoop Bucky up and give him a good hug. “Honey, honey, it's okay.”

Bucky gave her a very eloquent look.

“Don't you do that to me, I can raise my eyebrow higher than you can,” she said. “Sweetheart, I promise you, it is okay. Brain damage affects people in different ways, and none of this means that you're bad, or dumb, or anything like that.”

“But--” Bucky cut himself off and stared at her. Tati waited patiently; she could wait for him forever. “I swear I'm still useful,” he said quickly, meeting her eyes with one hell of a gaze. “I swear, Tati, I'm still good for something. I did really well on spatial stuff didn't I? The best you can do. I can shoot and I can do math and calculations and I _swear_ I'm still good for something even though I c-can't read. I can get orders another way. Right? Or I'll...figure something out.” He gave her another desperate look. “Please don't tell anyone. Please?”

“You done?” she asked, and Bucky nodded. “Good. Sergeant Barnes, you have got this _all_ wrong.” She held up her hand when he started to protest. “Unh-unh, you said you were done, gimme a sec here, okay? You are valuable and important and useful and _everything_ you're afraid of right now. Yes, you have incredible skills still. I have no doubt I could hand you a rifle and have to fan myself or get a case of the vapors or something at the result. But even if you couldn't hit the broad side of a barn, right now _you would still be valuable_. You are important because you exist. I know this is a big thing to get, but it'll make a little more sense, every day you live with it. You are so important, Bucky.” She paused, but he was quiet still. “I can promise you that I won't tell Sam or Steve, or anyone in the Avengers. I would like to share this with Lisle and Sarah though, _only_ because we're coordinating your care. If you absolutely can't deal with that, I can keep it from them, but it will make it harder to treat you. And, oh, Bucky, you must be so tired of covering for this.”

He smiled a little. “Everyone still thinks I'm a confused lump in a bed. And it's easier than you'd think, to get Steve to work Netflix.”

“Honey, that is the _least_ of what you could ask him to do,” Tati said without thinking, and was grateful that if the Sergeant had a filthy mind, he was keeping it to himself. “Anyway. Bucky, there's a lot we can do – I can work with you so you re-learn how to read. There's a chance that you won't re-form those connections in your brain, but there's a better chance that you will, I promise you. That's what these tests are for, to learn what we need to work on.” Her hips were aching sharply and she jumped up, hoping she could walk the pain off a little, pacing by his bed.

“Okay,” Bucky said softly. “You can tell Lisle and Sarah. But not anyone else.” He smiled sadly. “I'll tell Steve at least. Just...gotta do it in my own way.”

“Sounds good,” Tati said warmly. Her hips felt a little better, moving around. “Hey, d'you wanna finish the tests? I can set it so you won't have to read anything.”

Bucky hesitated, then shook his head. “Can we finish tomorrow? Please?” He smiled a little wryly. “It's not that I'm sick of you, doll, I'm just walkin' out behind your back. I have an appointment with a therapist  _and_ a psychiatrist later on. And I wanna walk to the kitchen and back before that, since  _someone_ says short trips multiple times a day'll do me good.”

“Well, they will,” Tati said smugly. “We got plenty of time before your appointment, but we can take a break too, if you want.” Well, maybe _he_ just wanted a nap too.

“Thanks.” Bucky smiled at her, almost sweetly. “See you again tomorrow morning?”

“You got it. Meet me in the gym downstairs, okay? We'll start with your physical therapy. I have a present for you, too.”

“What? Why? What is it?” Bucky demanded, the eager young man again just for a moment.

“Like I'm gonna tell you.” Tati stuck her tongue out. “Here's a clue – you'll love it, but it'll probably drive Steve _insane_. And the why is because I found it, and it's perfect for you, and you need it right now, so there.”

“You're _awful_ ,” Bucky informed her.

“I am amazing,” she corrected him. “Okay, big emotional scene over. You're free to go, kid. Hope therapist numbers 2 and 3 go well.”

Bucky just shrugged, but levered himself out of bed, grabbing his crutch to limp ahead of Tati. He was slow, but getting a little better every time they worked together.

Tati made it to her room – snagging a pint of ice cream on the way, because why else have a mini-fridge there – and tried not to collapse in bed. She could have lasted another two hours, but this was so much better. She could text Sarah and Lisle about Bucky's inability to parse words, one or the other would probably come and curl up with her, and they could make a plan of attack together. And just – everything would be better. Lucky, that she had these extra few hours of rest.

 

The next morning, Bucky looked up to see Steve knocking on the garden door, two mugs of coffee in his free hand. It was pretty early, the sun barely over the trees, and there was steam coming out of the mugs.

Bucky waved him in, heart sinking. _Obviously_ Steve wouldn't think less of him when he found out what was wrong. But.

Bucky had always been the smart one, and now he wasn't.

“Hey,” he said tentatively, taking the mug with his right hand. His left was still dead at his side. Currently he was using it to brace the StarkPad against.

“Morning, Bucky,” Steve said, and grinned. Somewhere, a bald eagle soared majestically against the sky, Bucky decided, a little sourly. Steve had already been out for a morning run.

Bucky was getting really good with the crutch.

All right, so he was healing, and when he was up to snuff he'd be Steve's physical equal. But right _now_ he felt like a skinny, gross, sad loser.

A brain-damaged one, to boot. Why in the hell did Steve care about him?

“Thanks for the coffee,” Bucky said softly, and sipped, trying to act normal.

“You're welcome. Hey, what's wrong?” Steve reached out and touched his shoulder. “Something's bothering you.”

Bucky took a deep breath, because Steve was gonna have to find out sooner or later. “I can't read,” he blurted out.

“Huh? Oh, Bucky, is it your eyes?” Steve touched his temple this time. “You get headaches or somethin'?”

“ _No_. I mean I'm illiterate.” He closed his eyes so he wouldn't have to see the pity on Steve's face. “I look at the words and I can't. Tati said it's 'cause of the brain damage.”

“Oh, honey.” Steve kept stroking his temple softly. “Then it'll heal, just give it time.”

“What if it doesn't?” Bucky snapped. “A lot won't – in my head, I mean. What if I'm dumb forever?”

“Hey, you're not dumb.” Steve moved his hand to grip Bucky's shoulder. “Look at me.”

Steve's big stupid face filled Bucky's field of vision. Christ. “You're not dumb,” he said firmly. “You're injured. Your brain is hurt, because unspeakable assholes did horrible things to you. You're still the smart kid who helped me with my homework. This doesn't change that, and it never will. Got it?”

“'m still smarter'n you,” Bucky managed, and Steve laughed.

“Yeah, you wish,” he said automatically, and pulled Bucky into a hug, because he was Steve. So obviously there were hugs. “Hey,” he murmured. “Tell you what. You wanna read, I'm your guy. I'll read to you until you get sick of me.”

“Steve, I'm sick of you now.” But Bucky smiled against Steve's shoulder, and leaned into him a little bit more. “Can we go out into my garden?”

“Anything you want, Buck.”

“After breakfast, then,” Bucky decided, and settled back against his pillows. It was awfully nice to have Steve right there, his thigh pressed against Bucky's, his weight making the mattress sink a little. And the coffee in bed part was pretty sweet too.

They spent the morning in Bucky's tiny garden just outside his room; he lay with his head just nudged against Steve's thigh, while Steve read aloud from  _Stranger in a Strange Land_ , and it was okay. It was okay.

 

An anonymous conference room. One without a glass wall. SHIELD did not believe in open office plans, which some recruits had named as a major reason to accept a position there.

An entire STRIKE team could fit, if it needed to. But these were early meetings, and only a handful of people were yet invited. Some with prior knowledge of the Soldier – Brady had an agenda item all to himself – some who were tactical masterminds. Some who were psychological geniuses. All who were highly trusted.

“We have time,” one person said. “The Soldier, or Barnes, is clearly still healing, and that place protects him, but it also protects us _from_ him. The...nature of the area works both ways.”

“Agent McGarrity is insistent that he stay there, for months if necessary,” someone added, after checking their e-mail. “I have to say, I don't mind the bought time.”

“But he needs to be brought to justice!”

“He will be,” the man who called the meeting said, soothingly. “I can assure you that he _will_ be questioned and his liability determined.”

“He is responsible for the death of _dozens_ of SHIELD agents!”

“Hmm,” said someone else. “I mean, he _is_ , but I would question how culpable he himself was. The level of brainwashing Hydra carried out is...” she trailed off, running out of words.

“So he gets to live the high life in the country?” was the disgusted question.

“Certainly not. Once he is healthy, he and Captain Rogers and Commander Wilson will be called in, and questioning will begin.”

“Oh, because he'll just come when we ask nicely?”

“You seem very concerned about this, Agent,” the man who called the meeting said. “I understand you lost several friends when the helicarriers went down over DC.”

“So did everyone in this room.”

“Hmm.” The man smiled. “What do you suggest?”

“That we start training for retrieval, if it becomes necessary. I am well aware of the...strictures... placed on SHIELD, and you know my thoughts about them very well, but those limitations can be overcome.” He'd firebomb the damned place, if it got him the Soldier.

“Certainly a Plan B isn't out of line,” the man said smoothly. “I trust you to head that up.”

“Of course, sir.”

“Moving on, you can see from Document 238-B that the Soldier received a treatment very similar to Captain Rogers', with the same outcomes...”

The meeting was not a very long one, after that. But the plans for a forced extraction – only if needed, of course – began that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and for your comments and kudos!
> 
> dietraumerei.tumblr.com


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky has a bad day - A conversation over lunch - the debate of our time - Steve thinks he's helping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is a touch late! You'd think it would be easier to write Steve being overly dramatic and self-sacrificing.
> 
> NB: There is some discussion of a past eating disorder in this chapter. Readers who wish to avoid it should stop reading at "Sarah laughed softly, but she caught Bucky's eye carefully. “It's hard, isn't it?” she asked quietly. “When you don't want to. When you can't.”" and pick up again at "“Safe,” Bucky echoed, and looked distant for a moment".

“Okay, Bucky, try again. You can do this, like you visualized,” Tati coached, standing at one end of the parallel bars.

Bucky stood at the other end, right hand resting on the bar closest, but weight mostly on his legs. He started to walk cautiously, and the first two steps were even, but he was limping heavily by the time he reached Tati.

“That was a really good start.”

Bucky sighed. “Don't patronize me  _too_ .”

“Hah. It _was_ , Sarge. I mean, it all went to hell after that, but you _can_ keep a steady gait. Try again.” 

Bucky groaned and turned around. He couldn't even manage a single good step this time, and he was pale and sweating when he got to the end. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Tati agreed, and slipped his arm over her shoulders to help him hobble over to a chair. “Today is one of those days where we talk about plateaus and how you can't win 'em all.”

“Fuck that, I'm a super-soldier, I _do_ win 'em all,” Bucky said, clearly frustrated. 

“Not here you don't. Honest, Bucky, you _can't._ Sometimes you just have a shitty day.” She looked at him critically. “Sleep for shit again last night?”

“What was your first clue,” he said, a little waspishly, and then flushed. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't take it out on you.”

“No, you shouldn't, but forgiven all the same. It's pretty fucked up, isn't it?” She sat down on the wheelchair that had, briefly, been Bucky's and idly pushed herself back and forth. 

“Yeah. Hey, you havin' a good day at least?” It shouldn't have surprised her that he'd guessed at her chronic pain, and then Steve confirmed it. And to be fair, she never tried to _hide_ it. (Well, maybe a little. Sometimes. A lot of the time.)

She shrugged. “Good as it ever gets.”

Bucky gave her a half-smile. “I'll take it, Generalissima. I'm sorry, I just...yeah.” He sighed, and rubbed his face. “I do the stretches you gave me every night, and Steve helps me do the second set every morning, honest.”

“That's really, really good,” she said. “They're helping you. Bucky, you gotta remember – if you were an un-enhanced human and had somehow survived, you'd still be in bed right now. You'd probably be unconscious, and it's likely you'd never walk again. You're making progress, you just started from a really awful place.” Tati smiled at him. “Maybe work on that, when you do your notes tonight. What could you do this week that you couldn't last week?”

“I can mope around on my own two feet,” Bucky said, and stuck his tongue out. “No walking stick yet, then?”

“Not yet,” she said, “Sorry.”

“You're no fun. Also Steve said to tell you, and I quote, 'Sweet Mother of Jesus why did you get him a fancy-pants walking stick now he'll have this affectation all of his born days and I will never be able to go anywhere with him _why do you hate me_?'” He finished off with a pitch-perfect imitation of Steve, including his exasperated face, and grinned proudly when Tati shouted with laughter.

“Just 'cause I found you a frankly pimptastic ebony walking stick--”

“\--tipped with brass,” Bucky added primly.

“\--tipped with brass, he thinks I'm out to get him, using you and your obvious sense of style as my weapon. Well I never,” she said around giggles.

“I know, he's so self-centered,” Bucky agreed. He looked at himself, and gave another funny little smile. “You wouldn't know I have a style to look at me.” He was wearing loose basketball shorts and a plain t-shirt. The brace around his leg wasn't too bulky or unwieldy, but it wasn't easily missed, either. And his left arm was strapped tightly to his body, the black neoprene looking and acting like a kind of sling that wrapped around his stomach as well. It held his arm still and kept the weight off of the shoulder joint but. Bucky looked like what he felt, a skinny-ass broke-down excuse of a man.

“Well, that's easily fixed at least,” Tati said. “Dude, next time we're both free after dinner, internet shopping. I am your fairy godmother.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously. If you feel better about how you look, that helps so much. Why d'you think I have like five pairs of silk pajamas?”

“Because you're an aesthete?” Bucky smiled though, a little shyly. “I don't think I have any money...”

“No, but SHIELD does, and Steve does. Between all of us, we can outfit you pretty damn sweet,” she promised.

Bucky shrugged, but he was not-so-secretly pleased.

 

Bucky glared at the buzzing phone on the counter. He just wanted a glass of water, okay?

“Eat something, or I'll rearrange your anatomy,” the phone informed him, in Lisle's voice.

Sarah burst out giggling. “Was that her idea?”

Bucky groaned and limped over to his cabinet (yes  _limped_ , suck it Tati, everything hurts and moving my knee is excruciating, this is what we're working with here) to rifle through for one of the food packs he and Lisle had put together, with (un)help from Steve. Each one was three hundred calories and he ate them what felt like constantly.

He reached in and blindly grabbed a container. Steve and Lisle had worked out a whole system so he could have his pick according to what he felt like (sweet, salty, mostly fruit, mostly protein, treats liberally sprinkled probably by  _both_ of them when the other wasn't looking). And Bucky was pretty sure that that would be great when he actually  _wanted_ to eat again. Assuming that ever happened.

He brought the container over to the table and flopped down gracelessly across from Sarah, feeling gross and tired and  _not like eating_ . But the phone would keep bitching at him regularly until he logged another mini-meal.

Sarah was having a late lunch, a bowl of Greek salad that had mostly come from the garden. Bucky could look at the garden from his little nook, where he and Steve still read in the shade of the rosebush every day.

Bucky was allowed to have bitter, sad days. Everyone said so. And at least he was  _feeling_ . The Asset did not, as such, have emotions. This was what progress was made of.

So he watched her eat the salad she'd picked with her own hands, and reluctantly choked down a handful of almonds. They weren't  _bad_ just...

“Not hungry?” Sarah asked softly, and Bucky shrugged.

“I don't think so? But I gotta eat. I'm still underweight.”

“You look a lot better,” Sarah offered, watching him pick at his food. “You'll be on normal mealtimes pretty soon, sounds like.”

“Have you seen Steve eat? Normal is not in my future.”

Sarah laughed softly, but she caught Bucky's eye carefully. “It's hard, isn't it?” she asked quietly. “When you don't want to. When you  _can't_ .”

Bucky nodded, just one quick movement. “I appreciate it so much,” he tried to explain. “I know it's not easy, or cheap, to feed us all. But I don't...” His face creased. “The Asset must have eaten. But I don't remember it. And I don't...I forgot  _hungry_ .”

“Ah, my problem was separate then,” Sarah said with a small smile. “Everything was _hungry_ , for me. But I couldn't eat. Wouldn't.”

Bucky's eyes widened. “What? What happened? Were you captured? Was it poisoned?”

Sarah blinked at him. “Bucky, I was fifteen. I was in high school.”

“Oh my God. Sarah, what...?”

She shrugged. “Eating disorder. Long time ago.”

Bucky still looked shocked. “You just didn't eat?”

“No.” She smiled, a little sad. “Until I landed in the hospital.”

“Oh my God,” Bucky repeated. “That's...that's horrible.”

“It is. It was – I've got a list of coping techniques longer than _yours_ , Barnes, and I haven't relapsed in a long, long time,” she said, not a little proudly. “It's hard work some days. But it's possible. You'll learn hunger, and eating for pleasure and all of that, the same way you're learning safe.”

“Safe,” Bucky echoed, and looked distant for a moment – something with cherries, something with summer, something with the smell of grilling meat, but it was gone. He knew _safe_ and _food_ and _healthy_ all went together.

Until then he had another handful of walnuts and a protein bar to choke down. Sarah, God love her, changed the subject to firearms and eating still wasn't exactly  _fun_ , but at least he could concentrate on something else, and not the way his stomach hurt and the food was dry in his mouth.

 

At least he'd made it to the sofa. He wasn't so pathetic that he stayed in his room. That was a victory now.

He had made impossible kill shots and now, for Bucky Barnes, success was lying on a sofa instead of his bed.

They should have let him die. Why didn't they let him die? It would have been peaceful, slipping away and out of this useless body that  _hurt_ . Sure Steve would have been sad, but he would have gotten over it. Soon enough, Bucky would just be a warm memory, the long-ago boy. Not the wreck with more blood on his hands than could ever be scrubbed off. A dead memory would have been so much kinder.

But now he was here, and his leg hurt, and his back, where he'd fallen and landed hard a few hours before. His belly hurt, distended from the latest little meal that he still wasn't used to eating. And he could comfort himself by...listening to an audio book. Steve had bought whatever he asked for and downloaded it, and even recorded himself reading a few of the shorter stories, and it wasn't the same. Wasn't nearly as good – he couldn't lose himself, the way he did long ago, absorbed into endless words.

So Bucky lay on the sofa and marshaled his energy. He'd have to eat  _again_ soon, and if he didn't get to the kitchen by then his phone would freak out at him then Lisle would freak out at him then Steve would look like someone had shot a puppy in front of him. And Lisle had told him this was important, and decades of  _not_ obeying orders meant that...his mind skittered away from what it might mean to disobey.

In a moment of truly black humor, he wondered if he could get ahold of the team who had brought him in – apparently none too gently – and ask if they'd like to finish the job.

Bucky was still on the sofa, getting up the energy to haul himself up and limp to the kitchen when a minor war tumbled into the room.

“How is this even a debate? _Superman would win_ ,” Sam said. “He is a _superhuman_. Batman is a rich guy in a stupid suit.”

“Yeah, but you're missing the point, which is that Superman wouldn't even fight. He's not like that, he'd pull all his punches or whatever,” Tati argued back.

Bucky pried his eyes open. What.

“Okay, okay, so are they fighting to the _death_? Or to the pain?”

“Oh my God,” Sarah groaned. “No, you didn't.”

“I did,” Sam said, very smugly. “Oh, hey, we've got our own ubermensch, let's ask him.”

“Holy shit, you are so tacky,” Tati said, burying her face in her hands. “Sam, you are the _tackiest_.”

“The ubermensch votes Superman. Duh.” Bucky closed his eyes again, and waited for them all to wander off and leave him in peace, or at least solitary misery.

“Hah, I'm right,” Sam said, and plopped down in the chair about a foot away from Bucky's head, like he wasn't some useless-as-shit human being who should have been left to die. Sam was supposed to be the smart one, he should _know_.

“Whatever, you _wish_.” Tati snagged a beanbag and plopped down on the floor, also about a foot away from Bucky. Well, she knew best of all how useless he was right now. “Hey bro, how's your ass feelin'?”

Okay, the noise Sarah made was at least kind of hilarious, he had to admit, and Bucky cracked an eye open. “I landed on my  _back_ , Generalissima, and it still hurts.”

Tati made a little sound with her teeth. “Aw, hon.”

“You okay?” Sarah asked, stretching out on another chair. She, at least, was a sane distance away. Then again, it was the next-closest place to sit.

“Yeah. I slipped in the shower is all.” Bucky shrugged. “It'll be fine in another hour or two.”

“I'll run and get your food for you until then,” Tati promised. “And here, you big loser.” She twisted around and did something with a pillow and Bucky's leg and. Okay. He hadn't even _realized_ that it had been hurting that much. “Better.”

“Um. Thank you.” Bucky blinked, and tried to stay present. There were _people_ , he couldn't just drift off like he usually did. There was no...he shouldn't. He couldn't.

“Hey man,” Sam said quietly. “Count your fingers for me, okay?”

Bucky nodded and did, ignoring his useless metal hand. One-two-three-four-five. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. The finger whorls he'd had since he was born; unique to him alone.

“There's water on the floor next to Tati for you,” Sarah said; he hadn't even been aware of her leaving and coming back. Or was this something she'd had with her? Maybe not important.

“You're doing great,” Tati said, and touched his shoulder. “I'm gonna put on cartoons, any requests?”

“No. I don't know.” Bucky shook his head, then paused. “Something new. Modern, I mean.”

“Something modern coming right up,” Sam promised, and pulled up Netflix. 

Okay, so he was fighting dissociation. But that distracted nicely from the kind of quiet wishing for death which...wasn't gone, but was more distant. He had people. He had choices, and had made one, and now he got to listen to Sam laugh at Bob's Burgers.

 

Steve looked up from his book, and his heart stuttered in a way it hadn't in seventy years – or about seven, depending on how you counted.

Strike that; the world stuttered. And shattered. And became whole again. And it was all because of one James Barnes.

Steve was sitting up on Bucky's bed, legs stretched out and leaning against the headboard. He had been reading, killing time while Bucky worked.

Across from the foot of the bed was a desk he and Sarah had dug up from some dusty corner for Bucky. It was a simple structure, but it fit well in the pretty little room and Bucky could sit at it to work, the sunlight through the big French doors and the window beside them long and warm on his back.

Bucky was bent over a notebook, carefully copying out letters. Tati had wasted no time in starting to restore his literacy, and he was making steady progress.

It had taken a few days for him to let Steve see him doing this work. Steve supposed he could understand that Bucky was embarrassed to be doing what he considered childish tasks. He tried to be compassionate, to give Bucky room, all while reassuring him that there was nothing to be ashamed of; that Steve was _proud_ of how strong he was, and how he worked so hard and was regaining the things that had been taken from him.

(Bucky was still afraid that he was valueless, that he was dumb, that he served no purpose. Steve was still working out how to respond to this.  T o  say to Bucky that he was valuable and beloved was a tautology, he finally decided. It was inconceivable that Bucky  _wouldn't_ be important; that was like trying to find the opposite of the color blue. The world didn't work that way.)

But now they worked peacefully together; or rather, Bucky worked and Steve kept him company, standing at the ready for whatever Bucky might need, from a glass of water to a break to listen to Steve read another chapter of Heinlein.

And then Steve looked up and saw the way Bucky curled over his work, saw the sunlight bring out the hidden highlights in his hair, saw him sit up, stare out the window for a moment, then go back to his task. And his world – changed.

Oh. Of course he had always loved Bucky,  would admit to having loved him as more than a brother. But this was like being hit by a huge wave, like drowning, like seeing a brilliant sunrise that lasted forever.  _This_ was being in love. Breathtaking, exquisite,  painful love.  Steve wanted to wrap around Bucky and kiss him all over. He wanted to be there while Bucky healed in mind and body. He wanted to be there for every moment of Bucky's life, good and bad, wanted them to face it together. He wanted to devote his existence to letting Bucky know how strong he was, how resilient, wanted to make him smile and laugh and reach for Steve, grace him with a kiss.

Steve breathed deeply, feeling not unlike he'd just been punched in the gut. He was in  _love_ .

Bucky coughed, and broke the spell. Only a little, but enough that Steve was startled back to real life.  Bucky coughed again, and took a sip of water. “Fuck this,” he said and Steve,  his heart rate still recovering, sort of agreed.

Bucky  hoisted himself up and limped the short distance to the bed, holding onto desk and footboard as he went before lying down beside Steve. 

“You want another chapter?” Steve asked. Bucky was terrible at asking for things for himself.

Bucky shrugged, so probably a yes. And Christ.  L ook at this man, dark hollows under his eyes and still with so much  physical healing ahead , not even touching  on  the healing his mind had to go through. He couldn't even ask for Steve to read to him, something they'd been doing for hours every day. There was no way in hell Steve would put more on him, ask more of him.

Besides, he could be in love just fine, lying exactly 5.25 inches away from Bucky's body, close enough to feel his heat. Steve would be  _great_ at being in love with just a smile, reaching for the battered paperback, and opening to where they'd left off. There was no problem at all; the ache in his heart was easily subsumed in the joy of seeing a faint smile on Bucky's face, the way he relaxed, even the way his head tilted a little tiny bit towards Steve.

He could love Bucky quietly, hidden, not put this  burden on him too.  Better, that way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and for your comments!
> 
> dietraumerei.tumblr.com


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A plan is made - the good parts of the future - Steve writes a letter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHOOOO NEW CHAPTER. Work is scarce for the next few weeks, so I miiiight even be able to write ahead. Assuming CACW hasn't actually killed me, which is a legitimate possibility at this point.

Agent Brady pulled out the well-thumbed file, and opened it again.

Of course it wasn't _the_ file; that was still in the possession of one Captain Steven Grant Rogers. But there were copies available and his clearance was such, and his duties such, that no one had looked askance when he requested one. 

He had made copies, enough to fill a wall. He always had thought best when he had something physical to work with, and since he couldn't get physical access to the Soldier, these avatars would do.

(The image of Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes he had carefully removed and filed away. The brave young man was worth remembering, but he had no part to play in this new world, not anymore. Why couldn't anyone else  _see_ that?)

Brady had arranged the wall, spirals on spirals, an image of the Soldier on the bridge, destruction all around him, at the center. He was a very focused man.

Images and documents made a labyrinth around that one image; known assassinations to the right, suspected to the left. Known kills to the right, blood turning from black in the oldest, color-less photos, to brilliant red as technology changed.

Brady wasn't heartless. He included a picture of Captain Rogers on the known side, even though he had survived. What more proof did you need, that the Soldier was evil? That there was nothing left of the childhood friend?

Everyone else was foolish, romantic, too trusting. Brady was none of these, and he delicately adjusted the pattern until it was perfect, until it was obvious. The Soldier had left a trail of blood, and needed to die for his crimes. It should be a slow, screaming death, but Brady was a realist. He'd get a single shot, if he was lucky.

He wished he believed in Hell.

 

“They're here!” Tati sang out as soon as the front door was open. “Bucky! We're gonna make you look hot!”

“I am hot!” Bucky yelled back and hauled himself up. He made a point of not leaning too much on the crutch, hoping someone would notice. He was _done_ with it, but hadn't been cleared to switch to the frankly awesome walking stick Tati had found for him just yet.

“A high self-esteem is very important,” Sam said from behind a stack of thick plastic envelopes and boxes. “Well done.”

“I love the future. Everyone just used to call me vain,” Bucky informed him, and they grinned at each other. It was a really, really good day.

“C'mon, lets go to your room, and Tati and I'll teach you how to wear skinny jeans without looking like a dick,” Sam promised, and Bucky followed along, keeping up without too much effort. 

“Hey, you're doing really great,” Tati murmured as they reached his room, right about when Bucky started limping heavily, and kind of wishing he could get his weight off of his leg _right away_. “You were walking a lot this morning, not surprising things are giving out.”

Bucky made a face. “Whatever.” He blinked, seeing everything laid out on his bed and Sam already starting to open things and lay out the new clothes. “Did we actually buy  _all_ of that the other day?”

“I might've gone back and added a few things,” Tati said, clearly not guilty.

“Me too,” Sam admitted.

“Pretty sure Lisle and Sarah did too,” Tati said, looking over the pile. “Fuzzy socks with sheep on them is Lisle all over. Also I need to find out where she got those, I want a pair.”

“Gardening gloves is definitely Sarah all over,” Sam agreed.

“Did, uh, Steve add anything?” Bucky asked, a little curious. Steve was still sticking tighter than his shadow (and was only not right there at that moment because Lisle had sweet-talked him into going out to a distant meadow with her to forage for blueberries), and he, along with everyone else in this stupid house, seemed to be under the impression that Bucky deserved the best of everything, for reasons he still couldn't quite grok.

Sam and Tati turned (in exact time and symmetry, Bucky noted, not a little impressed) and stared at him.

“No,” Tati said.

“Have you _seen_ him lately?” Sam said. “He is not allowed to touch the work of sartorial art that will be you.”

“I don't think he knows what size he is,” Tati said, and paused thoughtfully. “Not that I'm complaining, mind you.”

“Steve is not allowed to dress you,” Sam said, very emphatically.

“Never,” Tati agreed. “Ever.”

“If it helps, he couldn't dress himself in 1939 either,” Bucky offered.

Sam just sighed, and opened another box. “Man, just trust us.”

Bucky laughed and limped over to the easy chair by the big windows and settled down. “I am in your capable hands?”

 

He had never seen so many clothes in his life.

“We definitely overbought,” Tati said, but didn't look sorry at all. 

“Um,” said Bucky, as Sam fastened the leg brace back on over his jeans. It had been _hilariously_ clear that it wasn't going to fit under any of the  pants they'd bought him. “How much did all of this cost?"

“Never you mind,” Tati said sweetly. “Here, try this on – ooooh. Oh, yeah. That shade of blue is _definitely_ your color.”

Bucky looked down at the t-shirt; not as tight as Steve's were on him, but fitted. It stood out against the black of the jeans, and when he looked in the mirror, well, he couldn't disagree. 

He smiled a little. He didn't look like a weapon. He looked like any guy, maybe a little on the skinny side, obviously still a little injured, but not one that had survived hell and come back and was irrevocably broken in head and body.

Bucky smiled wider at his reflection.

“Nice,” Sam approved, and rested his hand on Bucky's shoulder. “Feeling good?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, feeling a little surprised. “I really do. Sam, did you all really buy all this for me?”

“We really did,” he said gently.

“But I tried to kill you.”

“Yeah, you did. But then you broke through brainwashing and programming I cannot even begin to imagine – and I have a rich imagination let me tell you – and now the most annoying thing you do is hog the sofa,” Sam told him.

Bucky blinked, and tried to smile. “Sam, I'm so sorry.”

“I know.” Sam squeezed his shoulder. “You got a lot to work through, Barnes. Enjoy the good stuff, too.”

“I'll.” Bucky cleared his throat. “I'll try.”

 

Steve was focused on checking his e-mail when he walked up to Bucky's garden and knocked on his door. 

“Come in!”

_Natasha I don't care what Tony has told you I only wore hot pants for like six months when I was a showgirl for the Allies_ . 

Steve hit send, looked up, and went into heart failure.

“Yeah, my clothes arrived at the post office,” Bucky said. “What d'you think?”

“I want to lick you all over and wrap your legs around me and let me hold that body against mine for at _least_ the next century,” Steve did not say, although he definitely thought it. And pictured it.

“Uh,” is what he actually said. “You look. Wow.”

Bucky laughed and set his StarkPad aside and hauled himself upright so Steve could see. His leg was feeling vastly better after a nap, and he even managed to semi-gracefully turn around and show off a little. “I've been assured that everything is very, very fashionable.”

“Those are some very tight jeans,” Steve managed.

“I know. They feel...kinda nice?” Bucky twisted around to regard his own ass. “Like they're giving me a hug. Well, giving my ass a hug.”

“Hngh,” Steve supplied.

“Well, _one_ of us has to embrace current fashion,” Bucky said, lying down again.

“What d'you mean?” Steve asked, a little wounded. “I look fine.”

“Steve, do you own anything other than sweatpants and shirts that are three sizes too small?”

“It's a _compression_ shirt, it's supposed to be tight.”

“Is that what everyone tells you?” Bucky smirked. 

“Of course getting a whole new wardrobe puts you in a good mood,” Steve sighed.

“That and making fun of you,” Bucky agreed, and his smile was sudden, startling, and would probably actually someday genuinely kill Steve. “It's a really good day, Steve.”

“I'm happy for you, then.” Steve tried to offer a smile that wouldn't result in him crying or wrapping around Bucky just to be in the presence of that much joy. God, Bucky deserved all this bliss and so much more, deserved everything good, and did _not_ deserve Steve leeching off of him. “You wanna read for awhile?”

“Please? I gotta do some work for Tati soon, but for a little bit, yeah?”

“For a little bit,” Steve agreed, and slipped his phone away, toeing off his sneakers so he could stretch out beside Bucky. He reached for Stranger in a Strange Land and picked up at the next chapter. They were close the end; he reckoned they might even finish that day, if Bucky wasn't too busy otherwise.

 

They did finish it that evening, sitting in the garden after dinner while Bucky did his PT before bed. The sun had set but the sky was still light enough to read, and the fireflies were just coming out.

Steve closed the book and set it aside, and smiled down at Bucky. He'd switched into long, soft shorts and a looser t-shirt, and was sitting on a yoga mat on the smooth stones that made up most of his little garden area. The smell of roses was heavy in the air, and Bucky was smiling, head tilted back, while little points of light danced around him.

Steve's heart broke, because this was more beauty, more love and more joy than he'd ever dared to hope for, and it was simultaneously the most he'd ever get. Bucky deserved better than him. Deserved to be free, to have his own life, to not have Steve moping after him. Deserved time and the freedom of heart that his best friend confessing bone-deep love, no matter how well-intended, wouldn't give him.

Maybe someday he could tell Bucky. Maybe.

They bid each other good night soon after, Steve awkward and Bucky sleepy and sweet, and Steve hightailed it to his room, heart too full for anything to be real.

Semi-blindly, he reached for a sketchbook and tore a page out, and started writing.

_Dear Bucky,_

_ I love you. There, I said it. I don't know if I'll ever be able to say that to you for real. I don't know if you'll ever be well enough to be able to choose if you even want my love, if you want  _ me _. I'm scared that if I told you, you'd say yes, and equally scared you'd say no. I love you, I love you, you're the most amazing man I've ever known, and I love you. _

_I can't let myself be a burden on you. I'm hard to love, or even to like, and you carry so much already. You have so much to do, so much ahead of you, and I can't weigh you down; so I write like the coward I am. I won't burden you, not with my sadness or my worries, not even with my love. I can't give you anything you deserve, but I can give you this._

_ I hope someday I can love you a little. Kiss you, hold you and see you smile. I can't plan on it, so I'll write this out, and destroy it, and keep going. This is the way I can love you best, by not burdening you. But God, Bucky, it hurts to not hold you. _

_Steve_

He blinked away tears, too exhausted for much self-pity. Writing out your feelings didn't help, Steve noted sourly, when there wasn't anyone to share it with.

He folded up the letter and tucked it in the back of  Stranger in a Strange Land , and set it on his little bookshelf. The first book they'd read together. Well, there would be more, until Bucky learned to read again and wouldn't need Steve. He couldn't quite bring himself to destroy it, this one spark of...something. Maybe of hope. Possibly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I've been plowing through a bit of writer's block with this story, and knowing that you all love it and want to see what happens next means a lot :)
> 
> dietraumerei.tumblr.com


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The part of Captain Obvious will be played by one J. B. Barnes -- on families, chosen or otherwise -- Bucky and Sam try to appreciate the natural world

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I saw The Thing. Will there be fic? Oh, there will be fic. And not just this behemoth, which is NOT CACW-compliant, but will be, inevitably, influenced.

Bucky woke with a start. Mid-snore, going by the noise he made.

“You okay?” Steve asked, and Bucky felt Steve's warm hand on his head, petting lightly.

“Uh.” He shook his head. “Where are we?”

“In your garden, Buck. We're in New York. You're safe.”

“Uh huh.” Safe was a thing that happened to other people. Bucky blinked in the sunlight and pushed himself up. “Was I asleep on you?”

Steve finally lowered his book and smiled at Bucky and.

Oh.

_Oh_ .

That was not friendship he was feeling.

“Yeah, kinda. You snore, by the way. And drool,” Steve informed him, while Bucky tried to deal with the fact that he may not have been 100% on who, where or when he was, but his heart was _very definitely_ trying to leap out of his chest. And plaster itself against Steve. (Metaphorically speaking. Hearts held a lot of blood, and Bucky wouldn't do that to Steve; washing blood out of cotton knits was a bitch and a half.)

Steve frowned. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, and decided to get something out of the fact that his body was a useless sack of shit at the moment. “Just sat up too fast and got dizzy.” It happened often enough for real, there wasn't anything suspicious about it.

Steve frowned and touched Bucky's shoulder, then gently urged him to lie back down. Bucky aimed for Steve's lap again, because Bucky was not a dumbass.

Steve's thighs were really, really nice, and the way he ran his fingertips through Bucky's hair – also really, really nice. Bucky closed his eyes for a moment and concentrated on being in love, because that was very definitely what he was. He was completely in love with Steve. And the shit of it was – Steve loved him back.

He was sure of it. One, Steve Rogers was like the least subtle person ever to walk the earth, at least when it came to stuff like this. Two, people did not look at people they were not in love with the way Steve was currently looking at Bucky.

“Are my sunglasses in reach?” Bucky asked, because he suspected he might look that dumb too.

“Yeah. Here you go.” Steve reached a little (and Bucky felt his thigh flex and simultaneously felt his heart rate go through the motherfucking roof) and handed the dark-lensed glasses over. “You sure you're okay? D'you want water or something?”

“Nah. Just gotta give my body a chance to wake up,” Bucky said, and slipped them on. It turned out that years of working in the shadows, plus a nice freeze-thaw cycle, meant that direct sunlight and Bucky's eyes did not totally get along.

P ossibly, maybe, just a tiny bit,  he pressed a little bit into Steve's lap  as he settled back down.

“Take your time. We got all afternoon,” Steve murmured, going back to stroking Bucky's hair, because they were both lovesick morons.

“Uh huh. Hey, d'you mind reading to me? Just for a little bit?”

“Of course I don't mind, Buck, you know that,” Steve chided gently. “I'll read to you as long as you want.”

“Promise I won't fall asleep this time.” Like he could sleep, with his heart still buzzing in his chest.

Steve deserved better; that was hilariously obvious. Everything about  him was all wrong for Steve, but that didn't change what  _was_ , which was that Bucky Barnes was in love with Steve Rogers and was about 75% sure that Steve was in love with him. Because Steve was crazy, but Bucky was in no way going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

He breathed deeply, and let himself sink down in the summer sunshine, Steve's legs warm and sturdy under his cheek. The constant pain that sat with him was down to a dull throb, and Steve's voice was deep and comfortable.

Soon. He'd watch Steve, and watch himself, and make sure this was a real thing. Not an implanted memory, not a memory of what was and could never be again, but reality. The truth of two men who were stronger together than they were apart. He'd watch, and wait, and when it was true, when he  _knew_ it was true, then – oh, then.

 

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“Is this just to annoy Steve?”

“ _Sergeant Barnes_.” Tati affected a look of shock. “Do you think I would ever do something to compromise your continued healing just to get on Captain America's tits?”

Bucky considered this for a moment. “Yes?”

“Good _God_.” She sighed and flopped onto his bed, making the mattress bounce. Bucky was kind of impressed – even thin as he was, he probably outweighed her, and _he_ didn't get it to do that. Maybe you had to pout like she was doing.

“No, for real. Seriously?”

Tati laughed, stretching a little and wincing. “Seriously. And for the record, getting on Captain America's tits is a bonus. I wouldn't let you do this if I thought you wouldn't be fine.”

“I know,” Bucky said, and at least half believed himself.

“C'mon then, swell, take a turn around the room for me.” They had met in Bucky's room to go over some self-care stuff (mostly teaching him how to fold laundry one-handed), and then she had given the very welcome news that he was finally, _finally_ allowed to ditch the crutch and use the fancy-pants walking stick Tati had found for him.

(Bucky had well-constructed arguments as to why he shouldn't even have to wear the brace anymore, let alone need assistance, all of which were roundly ignored by the cretins surrounding him. Steve had even started whistling while Bucky tried to explain that he was _fine_ , that his body would heal perfectly.)

Bucky set his crutch firmly in a corner, hoping dearly to never have to take it up again, and retrieved the walking stick. It wasn't as though it suddenly freed up his arm, but he did move a little easier, and felt about a million times better.

He felt a little stab at that, in his heart. He was getting better, that was good – but it meant this stay, this pause from life, would be over soon. Steve had assured him over and over that they'd just go back to Brooklyn, maybe to Avengers Tower, lay low for awhile. Steve didn't know that things never worked out that easily for Bucky. That he wouldn't get a happy ending.

Bucky pushed that thought back to where it could brew with the knowledge that he loved Steve and also the complete, technicolor memories of every person he had killed. Focus on the now; he could comb through those other things while planning for the eventual end of good things; in the sweet first few minutes after waking up; and preferably never but definitely in nightmares, respectively.

“Looking real good,” Tati approved, watching him walk around the room. “Holy shit, Sarge, that super-serum healing is amazing. You're doing really, really well. And I know you're working hard at this, it's obvious and it's paying off.”

Bucky tried not to blush at what she was saying, because deadly killers did not drink up praise from their combo PT/OT/fashion advisor.

He just smiled at her, and it was the kind of smile that made people's faces soften, made them smile back at him. (It made Steve blush as well, and go all gooey.) He concentrated on not limping, on walking through the stiffness in his leg, and even gave the walking-stick a dapper twirl before he set it down and sat on the other side of the bed, turning to face her. “Having a rough pain day?”

Tati made a face. “Yeah. Sorry, Sarge, I shoulda asked first, mind if I use your bed?”

“Generalissima, of course I don't.” He felt something in him go soft, remembering baby sisters crawling all over his stuff. It used to bug the shit out of him, and he'd go stomping over to Steve's to get a little peace. “You want anything, honey?”

Tati smiled and shook her head. “Nah, I'm fine, thank you though. Just gonna be directing you from here today."

Bucky laughed and set himself up so he was sitting up beside her, legs stretched out in front of him and the headboard to his back. “You sure? Steve would give you a piggyback ride back to your rooms if you asked.”

Tati groaned and covered her face with her hands. “Ughhh, grant me a little dignity, Barnes.”

“Fine, bridal-style then.”

She laughed at that and lowered her hands. “Hey, Sarge, get the brace off and do the stretching exercises I gave you, okay? I wanna watch you do 'em, haven't checked up on you in a little bit.”

“I have an eidetic memory, I'm not gonna start fuckin' 'em up now,” he informed her. “Also I think Steve watches those videos you sent of the movements like every day, just to keep on top of me.”

“That man is a born pedant, and I am unspeakably glad he represents my country,” she said, and gave a little wriggle. “Man, you got the comfy blankets.”

“Brainwashed former assassin privileges,” Bucky said, and smiled down at her as he started doing the stretches. “Hey,” he said softly. “Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah. Can't promise I'll answer, but yeah.”

“How bad is it?” he asked, a little tentatively. “I mean...is all this gonna get worse for you?”

“Oh, honey.” Tati blinked her eyes, and reached over to squeeze his shoulder. “Don't you worry about me.”

“That's not answering my question.”

“There isn't a good answer,” Tati admitted, and sighed, rubbing her hips. “It'll probably get worse over my lifetime, yeah. It got a lot worse a few years ago, and it's plateaued out to where, I dunno, I have enough spoons maybe two-thirds of the time? The actual pain might get worse; it's not something anyone can predict.” She smiled a little, wryly. “If the degeneration gets really bad, that means hip replacements, and that might help a lot actually. But I don't know. There's no way to be sure how things will go.”

Bucky nodded. “Hey, promise me something. If it ever gets that bad, don't go fucking around with SHIELD stuff. You get in touch with me – with Steve, rather. You get the best care that _Avengers_ money can buy, got it?”

Tati smiled at him, sweet as anything, like he wasn't fucked up. “I promise, Bucky. And hey.” She aimed a little kick at him. “What're you bitching about SHIELD? You're _getting_ SHIELD treatment.”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, straightfaced. “That's why I made the offer.”

“Oh my _God_.” She groaned, and kicked him again, and he went to tickle her, and she tickled back and they got into a slapfight, and Bucky settled back against the pillows, confident he'd won.

“You are a prick,” she informed him, and he smiled proudly.

“You...remind me a lot of my sisters, actually,” he admitted, and laughed. “A _lot_ a lot. You even look like Mary.”

Tati made a very interesting face. “You don't say.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes. “Tatiana...”

“Hang on,” she said quietly, and reached for her phone, hitting a few buttons. “Okay. I don't want this recorded.”

“Because the audio mysteriously dropping out isn't totally suspicious to the forty-five government agencies who will subpoena these tapes immediately?” Bucky asked.

“Not when it fakes a glitch that fucks up about six hours of tape.” She smiled a little at him. “Have you looked into your family much, honey?”

“I know my sisters have all passed away,” Bucky said quietly. “That's...all I needed to know.”

Tati nodded, and gave his shoulder a little squeeze. “Mary was the youngest, right?”

Bucky nodded. “Uh huh, she was the baby” He smiled a little, remembering. “She was only six when I shipped off.”

“Mary grew up, and got married and had a daughter in 1958,” Tati said. “Her name was Juliet. Juliet...had a rough life, ran away from home when she was a teenager. She had a baby in 1982, and put her up for adoption. She died in the AIDS epidemic in the late eighties.”

“Oh, _sweetheart_.” Throat swelling, ache in his chest, that was his _niece_ who had died, and he wasn't dumb at all, he knew where this was headed. “Oh my God.”

Tati smiled a little, achingly sad. “Yeah. I guess that makes me your grand-niece?”

“ _Tati_.” He held out his arm and she sat up, and he remembered to be careful with her, hug her like she was made of porcelain. This fucking amazing woman was his _family_. “Are you...did you know? When I got here?”

“Of course I did, you big dumbass. I got curious about my birth mom _ages_ ago, and looked everything up.” She grinned, and hugged him back. “I wrote like a million papers about you in college.”

Bucky laughed, a little broken. “I don't even...does anyone else know?”

Tati shook her head. “It would compromise too much,” she explained, and they pulled apart a little, so she could smile slyly at him. “It's probably not the most ethical thing I've done, but I don't care.”

Bucky smiled proudly. “Christ, you're definitely a Barnes. Oh. Your adoptive family...they good to you?”

“The best,” she assured him. “I promise, Bucky.”

“Good.” He hesitated. “I promise I won't tell anyone else, but please, Steve...”

“I figured telling you would be like telling him,” Tati said. “He's practically family, it sounds like.”

“Yeah. Uh. Do we have any other relatives?”

“Yeah. There's about a dozen of us floating around,” Tati said, and smiled at him. “You got a family, honey.”

He swallowed hard. “So I do.”

 

“Look, I can't explain it,” Sam said, as they headed out through the kitchen door. (It was the one everyone used. Bucky was pretty sure that he had literally never gone through the front door under his own power.) “But it's just...a thing. That you do. And if you haven't walked the land in a few days, you get kind of itchy until you do.”

“You sound remarkably un-freaked out,” Bucky said, following Sam down a narrow path that curved west of the gardens.

“I'm going for a walk with a guy born in 1917, and this morning I went running with Captain America. This is basically the _least_ weird part of my day,” Sam said, not a little dryly.

“Point.” The path led through a low meadow, full of the flowers Bucky recognized from the bouquets Steve brought him most days.

(Okay, okay, Steve was definitely mushy over him. Something to deal with...not at that exact moment.)

“Steve said it helped him feel better, to walk here,” he offered. The path had widened so he could be next to Sam, and was quietly grateful as the other man let him set the pace. He couldn't walk terribly far, but had been nudged out the door by Tati and Sarah that morning. And it was sunny and warm, and it felt good to just wander. Steve had been called away by some phone meeting with the other Avengers, but Bucky was quietly glad Sam was with him for this. In a lot of ways, it was easier to be honest with Sam.

S am did not get deeply sad puppy-dog eyes if Bucky said something he hadn't meant to.

“Yeah. It really does seem to help,” Sam admitted. “I dunno about physical stuff, but it helps with nightmares. And things.”

“Hmm.”

The path was wide and smooth; this had been picked for him on purpose, Bucky reckoned. He looked around, squinting in the sunlight  even through sunglasses . Meadow, all around here – low grasses and flowers. No way for anyone to hide. That was comforting.

“Sam?”

“Yeah?”

“Where's your favorite place to walk?”

Sam  paused, thinking it through . “On the land here you mean? Here. Trees make me claustrophobic.”

Bucky nodded – made sense. “I didn't really...grow up  with the countryside .”

Sam snorted. “You think I did? It's pretty here, though. And safe.”  He smiled at Bucky, easy and kind.

“Uh huh.” _Safe_ was a word to turn over in his mind, like a stone polished smooth, heavy and cool in his hand. You didn't know what the inside of the stone looked like but, by its weight, you damn well knew it was there. 

Possibly that was as much  _safe_ as Bucky would ever know, maybe ever deserved to know. He'd have to start turning that stone over in his hand more often; with his body healed, or nearly so, Tati was turning more to the problems rattling around in his brain. Of which there were no shortage – his continued illiteracy,  partially  soothed by lessons and Steve reading aloud to him, was  about the least harmful of what had happened to his mind.

Well, if he was going to be fucked in the head, at least it was pretty where he had to do it. The path they were on was short, looping back around to the front of the house, and Bucky walked it easily, side-by-side with Sam the whole way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the by, I have the next chapter nearly all written, so I'm hoping to post it in a day or two. You guys have more than earned what will happen next. (And for the rest of the story. Repeatedly. /non-spoiler spoiler)
> 
> come hang out with me at dietraumerei.tumblr.com
> 
> (NB -- I tag my CACW spoilers with 'cap 3', sometimes 'cacw', and always the word 'spoilers'. I use cuts, uh, not very much by now, sorry.)


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FUCKIN' FINALLY the chapter you've all been waiting for

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 38,000-plus words. 20 chapters. If I could bake each and every one of you a cake, I would.
> 
>  
> 
> (I literally just finished writing a big chunk of this, so please forgive any typos or weird lines, and do please point them out. I just couldn't keep this from you guys any longer!
> 
> Also, this chapter is dedicated to Sebastian Stan's luscious hair, for real, how does he get it to do that.)

“Sorry, am I boring you?” Natasha asked sweetly, and Steve was immensely glad that he had just called her, and skipped the videoconference she'd suggested

“No! No, of course not,” Steve said.

“Did you just try to lie to _me_?” Nat asked.

“I would never. You know damned well that I find the logistical issues around Clint's arrows thrilling,” Steve informed her.

“Remind me again why I like you?”

“You aren't home enough to get a Golden Retriever, and I'm like the next best thing,” Steve informed her, and she cracked up.

“Aw, I almost miss you,” Nat cooed.

“I miss you too,” Steve told her warmly, and shifted where he sat in the natural seat, formed from the roots of an oak tree. “Seriously, I'm sorry. I'm being a shit team leader.”

“You got other things on your mind. How's Bucky?” Nat asked, and Steve could hear her bracing himself through the phone. Which was really uncalled for, he barely babbled at _all_ about Bucky anymore.

“He's good,” Steve admitted. “Really good, actually. He'll go away in his own head sometimes, and there's a lot of mental stuff still there, but physically at least, he's great. And he's getting those strange interludes where he's the Asset again less and less.”

“That's fantastic,” Nat said, and sounded sincere. “What aren't you telling me.”

“I'm in love with him,” Steve said, because there was no point in hiding it.

“Well, I know that,” Natasha said, and he heard her shift and take a sip of tea. “Tell me how you're martyring yourself for love, Tosca.”

“Tosca?” Steve asked, confused. “Nat, it's not _like_ that. Seriously, he's barely got a grasp on _who he is_. I'm not gonna barge in and add to to his troubles.”

“I'll send you a link to explain. And that's sweet of you, but you know, you could also be adding to his joys,” she said. “Also you're probably pathetic.”

“Natasha, not _now_ ,” Steve said, and rubbed his eyes. “I don't want to fuck him up, okay? It's not some great epic love story.”

“Hey, I'm sorry,” Natasha said quietly. “But I don't want to see you longing indefinitely.”

Maybe a little against his well, a soft curl of warmth unfolded in Steve's chest. Nat rode his balls more often than was really required, but she cared about  _him_ . One of a very small handful of people in the world who did so, he sometimes thought. “I won't,” he promised. “I'm not gonna...I'm not throwing away my shot,” he said, and laughed when she groaned. “You're welcome.”

“Die in a hole. And you better not, Steve. Yeah, wait until he's ready, but don't take the choice of having you away from him, y'know?” Nat said.

“I know,” Steve promised. “I won't.”

“Good boy. Hey, I gotta run – same time day after tomorrow?”

“You know it. Take care of yourself, Nat.”

“As always,” she said lightly, and Steve added that to his list of worries. With Clint back home with his family and Sam here with him, who was there to make sure Nat laughed and took afternoons off and had tea the way she liked it? Maybe he'd go back and visit soon. As soon as he could stand to leave Bucky, he would, he promised himself.

 

Bucky Barnes did not understand picnics.

He _remembered_ them just fine of course.

He just didn't get them, and never had. Why wouldn't you eat inside, where there weren't bugs? What did trying to balance a plate on your lap have to offer that, say, a nice restaurant with white tablecloths and silverware and crystal glasses and literally any part of eating indoors like a civilized person _didn't_?

Nothing, that was what. But Steve had planned a picnic for them, so Bucky went on a picnic, because Captain America, that's why.

The basket had a red-and-white gingham lining. What even was his life.

Steve carried the basket and blankets and pillows, and Bucky carried...himself. His left arm was still useless, although Stark and Lisle had made noises about some kind of healing happening, deep within the metal plates, but it was still strapped to his body, the thick fabric of the sling ruining the line of his t-shirts. At least he could walk pretty well with the stick, and it even made him look a little dapper. If you ignored the big plastic brace around his leg, which he did not.

Bucky was vain, and refused to apologize for it.

(“I'm regaining a sense of my own body,” he'd protested.

“It's a sin and you know it,” Tati had said primly.

“Besides, you look fine, and you know that, too,” Sarah had informed him dryly. “Honestly, we've had to double our conditioner order since you woke up.”

“Sorry,” Bucky had said, and he really had felt contrite until Sarah had actually squeezed his shoulder and told him to use as much hair product as he wanted, every single shower. And then something that smelled like lemongrass and made his head actually feel like an actual kitten had appeared outside of his door, and he knew better than to ever bring up what a giant softy Agent Hardass McGarrity was to anyone's face.)

He walked side-by-side with Steve down a wide pathway that was quickly swallowed up by trees. The undergrowth was thick here, a thousand shades of green from fern and moss, rock and tree. There was nowhere remotely comfortable to sit, but Bucky trusted Steve to have a goal in mind, and one they could read before he started to hurt.

It was a clear summer day – it had rained, maybe, twice that he could remember since he woke up, talk about magic places – and there was birdsong around them in the woods. They walked in comfortable silence over the dark dirt path, the soft scar that wasn't a violence that traced through the woods.

It was easy for Bucky to lose himself in the green light and the soft sounds, in the warmth and comfort of Steve beside and, even, of the promise of good food. (Even if it was deeply dumb that they had to walk through a forest to get to the food part like, Steve, there are a million places to eat at the big house that involve, you know, chairs.) Lose himself in the best way; wherein he did not become the Asset, and didn't even become the young Sergeant, but stayed himself. Himself set in the world, though, one of only a million living things in a given square mile, trees vast above him and around him and the ground solid beneath him.

Bucky looked up and smiled. He and Steve had watched the Lord of the Rings films together, the two of them stretched out in Bucky's bed, and it had been wonderful. “You ever wonder if Ents are real, Steve?”

“I could believe they were, here,” he admitted, and reached out to trail his fingers along the moss that covered half of a lighting-blasted tree. “In a hundred years, maybe they'll remember us.”

“Maybe,” Bucky said softly. There was a holly tree, it's leaves glossy and hard, and he paused to pluck a single sharp leaf, temporarily resting his stick against the thick branches. He waited a few more steps, then ran it along Steve's neck, laughing when he scrunched his shoulders up and made a face.

“Wimp,” Bucky said.

“Loser,” was the best Steve could shoot back.

They fell back into quiet, though not for much longer. The undergrowth lightened as they came to the edge of the little forest, and a breath caught in Bucky's throat. This must be where they were going to eat.

There was a perfect circle of birch trees, white bark glowing in the relative dimness of the forest, and the thick grass within the wide circle lit up by sunlight. The trees weren't so high, compared to what was around them, and the interior of the circle was mostly sunny, though somewhat sheltered by graceful green boughs.

“ _Oh_ ,” Bucky sighed, and Steve smiled at him.

“I told you you'd like it,” he said.

“Smugness doesn't suit you,” Bucky informed him.

“Says you.” Steve stepped off the path, and Bucky carefully followed him to a little gap in the trees, and then into the grove. Steve spread a blanket out, set down the basket, and helped Bucky to sit down, fussing a little until he assured Steve he was comfortable, he didn't need to sit on a pillow, nor did he need one for his leg and I thought we were here to _eat_?

Steve laughed and served lunch up. Still a relatively small portion for Bucky, but there was more than enough if he got hungry again in an hour. (Which had been happening more and more, to Lisle's delight and Bucky's dubious satisfaction. He still felt weird, eating so much and having so much good food readily available. Lunch with Sarah was best; she never talked about food.)

 

After they'd eaten their fill (and Sarah must have talked to Steve, since he pointed out everything _but_ what they were eating, which Bucky appreciated more than he could ever find words for), Bucky lay down on the blanket and looked up at the trees, their branches making a circle above him, soft and green with midsummer light. The grass here was thick and soft – grass usually wasn't, once you'd lain down on it, but Bucky could have slept for a week right here.

“You want a pillow?” Steve asked, and leaned over him, the space a halo around his head now, or maybe the trees were. Either way, Bucky _wanted_ to tell him to move his fat face, but actually his mouth went completely dry. And not in the bad way when the words fled.

Steve was, of course, slipping a pillow under Bucky's head, his hand cradling his skull, still so gentle,  _Jesus_ Steve my neck, which was not actually that badly hurt, healed  _ages_ ago. 

What was this world where people were so soft with their touches, and when would he have to leave it?

“Thanks,” Bucky managed to whisper, but Steve still knelt over him, and they smiled at each other and oh.

Oh. Steve felt it too. There was no question.

Steve sat back, but his hand wrapped around Bucky's. And it was Christmas and his birthday all wrapped up together, it was the first day of spring and the first snowfall of winter. It was the sound of bees and cicadas suddenly deafening, birds a counter-melody over top of it. It was his face warmed by sunlight, the Asset who had been called Winter thawing. It was everything coming together in a great, dizzy hum of life, because he and Steve loved each other. It was obvious, and true.

Bucky squeezed Steve's hand, and he squeezed back, and they grinned at each other, the knowing like a secret that was just for them. He worried for a moment that the spell would break as soon as they left the grove, but no. This kind of thing didn't break, ever.

Steve rubbed his thumb across Bucky's knuckles, and Bucky  _giggled_ , because he loved and was loved. There was no need for anything more yet, and he wanted to savor this. To draw out the last minutes where they knew, but before they'd done anything about and the waiting crackled between them. Bucky had not had anything to himself for decades. Now he had the way his blood fizzed in his veins, the way the earth held his body and he looked up and blinked.

“You want your sunglasses?” Steve asked softly.

Bucky shook his head. “S'okay. I'm used to the light now.”

“That's good.” 

It was green and gold and filtered through trees and Steve's hair. He'd need the dark glasses for the walk back to the big house, but here, it couldn't hurt him.

Bucky smiled and shook his hand free – but reached out immediately to lay it on Steve's knee, thumb rubbing just a little.

Steve's smile was –

Perfect. It was the old smile, before everything went to hell. Before everything went to hell and came back, Bucky corrected himself. There was something there besides the guilt now.

Steve's hand was warm on his shoulder, and Bucky closed his eyes and tilted his head until it rested against Steve's forearm. An incredible urge to weep filled him; the only sensible reaction to this much emotion. He pushed it away, because he didn't want to worry Steve, because everything here was good, because there would be plenty of weeping later. Right now, he rested, floating in the expectation.

Literally, it seemed. He'd drifted off at some point, half-dozing in the sun and Steve's touch and the knowing. Of course, Steve woke him up. Of course, it was to feed him.

“Hey, I found strawberries and cream!”

Bucky laughed and opened his eyes. “Jesus Christ, how can you eat  _more_ ?”

“I've been able to eat more since I was _born_ , and you know it,” Steve informed him. “Everyone thinks it's the serum, and I see no need to enlighten them. Here, at least have one? I think they grew the strawberries here.”

Bucky rubbed his stomach, but it was flat, and he didn't have that over-full feeling he got so often still. A strawberry dipped in cream wouldn't make him sick. “All right already, Jesus.” He pushed himself into sitting up and blinked, waiting a moment for the dizziness to pass.

“You good?” Steve asked.

“Gimme a second...yeah.” Bucky smiled. “I'm good.”

Steve took one of the small berries and dipped it in a little pot of thick cream. Okay, it looked amazing, and Bucky opened his mouth and it tasted  _really_ amazing, and he was  _not_ going to moan about this, he just wasn't.

He moaned, and felt Steve laugh, and at least he had the good taste to wait until Bucky had swallowed before leaning in and kissing him.

He did  _not_ moan about that, thank God, but kissed back, sweet and easy as you please. Steve was cradling his head in one hand, and Bucky reached up with his working arm, weaving his fingers through Steve's hair, sunlight- and skin-warm.

The kiss ended naturally, and Steve touched his forehead to Bucky's, breath warm and soft and right there.

“Hi,” Bucky said softly, and leaned in for another kiss, just as long and slow as the first one. None of that frantic bullshit. They had all the time in the universe, in this place.

“Hey,” Steve whispered, when the latest kiss was done, and then he was pressing little kisses to Bucky's lips, his cheeks, just over his eyes, because he was a gigantic dweeb.

Bucky just smiled and indulged him. If Steve was gonna love a fucked-in-the-head guy like him, there was no helping him.

“Oh, _Buck_ ,” Steve whispered, and somehow Bucky wound up practically in Steve's lap, his arm dropping to wrap around his shoulders. He was still skinny, but he was a helluva lot stronger now, and he put all of his energy into hugging Steve close.

“Shhh. I got you,” he murmured. “'m here.”

“God, I thought I'd lost this chance forever.” Right, like Steve wouldn't have walked through actual, literal hell for Bucky (for reasons unknown, but Bucky would do the same for him, so) if he were given the opportunity.

“Nope,” Bucky whispered, and leaned in for another kiss.

He started to wonder if time really  _had_ stopped, but the sun was sinking, slow but perceptible, and Tati would kill him if he was late for their session, no matter what his excuse was. He helped Steve pack up the leftovers, and Steve helped him haul himself upright.

They walked up the path together. Steve's arms were full of the picnic things, and Bucky had his walking-stick, but they were close, bumping shoulders now and again, and Bucky stumbled three times before Steve exhaled noisily and dropped behind, all but forcing him to concentrate on the route back home.

They went to Bucky's room first, Steve abandoning his things to hold the door open, and okay. Bucky had maybe worried a _little_ that things would be different not in the grove, not outside under the bluest sky, but no. No way, not when as soon as they were both inside, not when as soon as he'd slipped his sunglasses off and even looked at Steve, they were wrapped around each other, kissing slow and easy once more.

“You're gonna be late,” Steve said, but his arms were still around Bucky's waist, and he was still leaning in and stealing another kiss.

“Tati'll forgive me,” Bucky mumbled, his good arm around Steve's back, holding him close. “God, did you always taste so good?”

“You gotta go,” Steve whispered, and kissed him one more time. “Come and find me when you're done. Or call me, if you can't make it to my room.”

“Sweetheart, not even death is gonna keep me from findin' your mouth again,” Bucky swore, and kissed Steve one last, last time, for really real this time. He pulled away with no little effort and retrieved his walking stick. “Thanks for taking care of the blankets and stuff,” he admitted, looking a little sheepish.

“Yeah, yeah, you just wanted to get out of having to clean up,” Steve teased, and touched his hand to Bucky's cheek. “Go, or Tati really will get annoyed. And I'm serious, just call me if you're tired, or in pain. I'll come to you.”

Bucky made a face at him, but walked off through the house to the PT room. Steve fancied he was already walking a little easier, his gait a little less stiff.

He dusted the blankets off and put them away, and put away the extra food, what little there was of it. Steve tidied the kitchen and turned to the dishes, clearing the pile there from the day's meals, and then washed everything they had used to eat. He reckoned he was pretty well gone, when just washing glasses made him think of Bucky and smile. He took his time, relishing the passing minutes – Bucky would be his again soon, his PT sessions shorter now.

He lost himself in scrubbing the counters and the sink, and was contemplating cleaning the fridge, when Tati came into the kitchen.

“Hey Steve!” she chirped, and helped herself to a glass of water. “Bucky said could he take you up on that offer to come to his room.”

“Of course,” Steve said, trying to not too visibly melt. “Should I bring anything?”

“Here.” Tati handed the glass. “And he didn't tell me anything _but_...”

“But?”

Tati giggled and stood up on tiptoe to kiss Steve's cheek. “Congratulations,” she whispered, and Steve turned red.

“Uh. Thanks?” He smiled at her. “See you at dinner?”

“Maybe?” She made a face. “I'm gonna take a nap, see if I can recoup some spoons.”

“Hey.” Steve set the water aside and pulled her into a hug, as gentle as he could be. “Don't worry about it, I'll bring you a plate.”

“Thanks, honey.”

“You're the one working miracles with Bucky.” Steve smiled and kissed her cheek. “Have a good nap.”

Tati just smiled, and went on her way.

Steve paused to grab a very large wedge of blueberry pie and two forks, and tried to not walk _too_ quickly to Bucky's room, his treats balanced on a tray. He knocked softly, then opened the door when Bucky called to come in.

“Hey.” He smiled softly, still warmed at just the sight of Bucky in a real bed, even if his leg was propped up on pillows, and he was leaning heavily back against still more. “I brought pie.”

“Y'know, everyone's wrong about you, you're not an asshole at all,” Bucky said, opening his eyes and smiling at Steve.

“There you go again, Barnes, mixing the two of us up again. Everyone knows you're the asshole.” Steve set the tray down on Bucky's bedside table and sat on the edge of the bed, leaning in for a kiss. 

“That would be because of the brain damage, which means you're _totally_ an asshole for making fun of me. Everyone's right after all.”

Steve laughed, and ruffled Bucky's hair. “What in the hell are you on about?”

“Severe pie deficiency. Makes me babble.”

So did being in pain, and being tired, and most of the things that made up Bucky's days at the moment. Steve leaned in and kissed his forehead, only a little comforted when he felt Bucky's hand on his waist, thumb rubbing just a little. “Better fix that then.”

“Yeah, you fuckin' hate listenin' to me talk,” Bucky teased, and pushed himself into sitting a little more upright. Steve pointedly handed him the glass of water first, which he drained, then settled the pie on his lap.

“I do sometimes long for the peaceful days you were in a coma...”

Bucky laughed, and ate a fork-ful, eyes closing in pleasure. “Ngh. Sam is an actual angel.”

“Pretty sure you're right.” Steve took a bite for appearance sake, but made sure Bucky got the majority of the pie. 

“Good session?” he asked, once Bucky had made a good-sized dent.

“Mmm. Yeah, I think so. Here, eat some, you're always hungry.” He held out his fork, and Steve obediently ate a bite. 

“Thanks. And that's good.” Steve rubbed his leg softly. 

Bucky smiled at him, and tugged him down for a kiss. “I'm doing fine, Steve. Just tired.”

Steve made a little humming acknowledgement, and kissed Bucky again. Then one more time. “I'm not complaining about our current situation.”

Bucky laughed softly. “I am. I have pie to eat.”

“Please, don't let me stop you then,” Steve said, rolling his eyes a little. He was pretty content to sit back and watch Bucky eat in the late-afternoon sunlight. And, when he was done, resume necking.

They kept it slow and soft, Bucky slowly inching over so that Steve could lie beside him. So that Steve could slide his arms around Bucky and hold him close, kisses melting one into another so that they were sharing breath, soft touches and motions, so easy that Bucky actually drifted off to sleep mid-kiss.

Steve smiled fondly at him, and pressed a long kiss to his temple, willing him to heal faster, willing him to be free of pain while he slept. Bucky's face was relaxed and easy, and Steve hoped he was sleeping well.

It was his night to cook dinner, but he waited until the last possible moment to pull himself away, making sure Bucky was well-supported in the big, soft bed, and finally leaving silently.

Steve caught sight of himself in a mirror, and stopped and grinned at his reflection. His hair looked like it had been styled with an egg-beater – thanks, Bucky, you're pretty handsy for a guy with one working hand – and he was flushed. His shoulders were relaxed and his grin was. Well, it was disgusting, frankly. As soon as anyone saw Steve, they would figure it out. He was going to spend all of dinner getting mercilessly ribbed, and didn't give a single damn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told you I loved you all.
> 
> dietraumerei.tumblr.com


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> on killer pancakes -- morning kisses -- the Black Widow definitely has the box set of My So-Called Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI GUYS! I know. I knooooow. It has been literal ages. I plead burn-out, but I promise I also know more or less exactly what's going to happen in this story from here on out. I've got the last chapter already written, as is my wont.
> 
> The bad news is I'm about to go on holiday for two weeks, and I don't plan on writing at all, due to busyness and not having my laptop. (I hate typing for long on my iPad.) So it might be a wee bit before the next chapter, but I can at least plot the damn thing out while I'm gone, so hopefully it won't take too long to write up :)
> 
> Meanwhile, enjoy!

Steve woke up slow and easy. He'd slept late, a little by accident, and sunlight was pouring down on the tall grass outside of his bedroom. Shit – he'd slept through his usual morning run with Sam.

_Shit, I'm sorry! Just woke up. Breakfast?_ he texted.

Steve was determined to not be a terrible friend. Also Sam had figured out what was up after a single look at Steve's face the night before, and had promptly made fun of him for the next hour over dinner.

And then grabbed his arm as he left, and gave him a hug, and told him to go be happy. (Steve had taken a plate to Tati before dinner, and he took one to Bucky afterwards, and they were very happy, Samuel Wilson.)

_Get in here or your pancakes will be cold_ came the reply

Steve grinned; he had the best friends.

 

“Well, good morning sunshine,” Sam said, and set a stack down in front of Steve. 

“Thanks for cooking,” Steve said, and dug in hungrily. “Holy shit this is so good.”

“God, you're easy. A little cinnamon and you'll all do my bidding,” Sam said, but he was already pouring more batter onto the griddle. “You're still disgustingly happy.”

“Slept well and all,” Steve said, trying to keep a straight face. He _had_ slept alone, there was nothing to be teased about. He was a gentleman. (And Bucky was still healing and did not need a giant  thrashing human being next to him all night. Steve had woken up tangled in the sheets enough to know how he slept.)

“Uh huh.” Sam studied the pancakes and flipped them. “'s a good look on you.”

“Sleeping well?” Steve asked, clarifying, around a mouthful. 

“Good God, Steve, I know your Ma raised you not to talk with your mouth full. And no. Happiness.”

Steve paused, and set his fork down. “Sam...”

“I knew you had manners.” But Sam was grinning at him from the stove, and Steve was warmed suddenly, startlingly. God, he was lucky. 

“Thanks. Hey, you wanna walk the bounds later?”

“Love to. I got a skype appointment at two, but anytime after three is fine.”

“I'll come get you,” Steve promised. Bucky or no Bucky, Sam had pulled him out of a deeper darkness, and been his first friend. Damned if he was going to let that go.

 

Steve knocked on Bucky's door and came in at his call, grinning to find him already up and dressed. “Hey Buck.”

“Steve!” Bucky pushed back from his desk and carefully walked the few steps to Steve unaided, looping his arms around his neck. “G'morning.”

“Morning.” Steve leaned in the little bit needed to kiss Bucky, and then kiss him again. “Hi.”

Bucky laughed and pressed a kiss against Steve's shoulder. “You slept late.”

“Guess so. You already had breakfast?” Steve asked, sorry that he'd missed eating with Bucky. “You sleep okay last night?”

“Like a rock,” Bucky assured him. “Just woke up early. And in a good mood. Can't imagine why.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Steve said softly, his hands settled on Bucky's hips. “You busy right now?”

“A little. Keep me company while I finish up some stuff for Tati?” Bucky asked, still snugged in Steve's arms.

“Of course. Literacy stuff?” Steve asked, not quite ready to let go yet. How, exactly, had he lasted so long without the comforting weight of Bucky in his arms? It was ridiculous that he had spent _hundreds_ of mornings without Bucky's head resting on his shoulder. His life had been so dumb.

“Nah, I'm saving that for later,” Bucky said, and made a face. “This is fun. Some calculus she wanted to test me on.”

Steve smiled and hugged Bucky tightly. “You always were best with numbers.”

“I guess. I miss reading, though.”

“You're doing so good,” Steve reminded him. “Honest, Bucky, you're gonna be devouring books like there's no tomorrow so soon.” A soft little kiss, then a firmer one. “Nothin' keeps you down for long, y'know.”

Bucky just smiled, and kissed Steve back. “Le t me get this done, then we can make time, okay?”

“Okay,” Steve relented, and helped Bucky back to his desk before stretching out on his bed, wriggling a little to get comfortable. The pillows smelled like hair stuff Sarah had gotten for Bucky, and Steve was smiling as he explored Bucky's iPad, looking for the next book to read aloud to him.

He set  the thing aside and just watched Bucky, feeling lazy and good, well-fed and well-loved and... everything . Sam had been right – he was happy. The future loomed large but for this one sunny morning, he was happy.

 

“How's your end of things looking?” Natasha asked. Preamble was for losers, and they both loathed small talk.

“Bucky's amazing,” Steve said, and probably started to babble. “I swear, he looks better every day. His face is even filling out – you can't really see it in the photos that survived, but he always had this little double chin and it was the cutest thing, and he's just starting to get that again and when he smiles he gets crows-feet around his eyes, and he's walking better and better every day, and I'm so proud of him.”

The silence on the other end of the line made him think that this was maybe not what Natasha had been asking. “Uh. How are you?” Steve tried again.

And then she _laughed_. For whole minutes.

“I'm not that funny,” Steve said peevishly, and she laughed _harder_. “You know, I liked you more when you were a terrifying emotionless killer.”

“You love me,” Natasha said gleefully. “I am an eternal ray of sunshine in your life.”

“Jesus God, my life isn't _that_ depressing.”

“Well, not when I just got a recitation of your favorite things about the other terrifying emotionless killer in your life,” she said, and her voice was warm and sarcastic so he didn't correct her. Bucky was the farthest thing from emotionless these days. “Do you really like how he _leans_ , Steve?”

“What? Never mind,” he groaned. “Shut up.”

“As glad as I am of the update on your romantic life – oh yeah, Sam texted me. A lot. – I _was_ asking how things looked on your end as regarded actually getting Bucky safely out of there when the time comes.”

“Oh, uh.” Steve ran a hand through his hair. “I haven't thought about it much, to be honest. Sarah has about forty-five contingency plans, and we'll probably adapt one of those. I wouldn't hold your breath, though. Bucky's healing physically, but...”

“Yeah,” she said, with surprising gentleness. “I get it. How are you? Babbling aside.”

“Me? I'm fine.”

“Steven Grant Rogers.”

“I am! Nat, honestly. I am.” He grinned and touched the bright face of a daisy. Bucky had made him keep the latest bouquet he'd made, pointing out that there was nothing wrong with the three that were currently decorating his room. “I'm sleeping better than I ever have in my life. I have to have therapy sessions once a week over Skype, and Sam's helping me up my basketball game. I'm good.”

“And you're head-over-heels for your man,” she observed.

“Well, yeah. Bucky's a big part of it all, I'm not gonna pretend he isn't. But this place is good for everyone,” he said. “Sam's looking better too. Still sad sometimes, but he doesn't look haunted anymore.” He paused, then decided to go for it, because Steve Rogers wasn't afraid of the Black Widow. Honest. “You should come and visit. Please?”

“Maybe soon,” she allowed.

“How're things on your end?” Steve asked, leaving what he was referring to ambiguous.

“Cautiously okay. There's a small group I'm keeping an eye on, as they seem to care a bit more than is healthy about what would happen if Bucky reverted to being the Winter Soldier, but I don't think they'll be particularly harmful. And they're SHIELD-to-the-bone all of them, very big on following chain of command and preserving the honor of the organization. Don't snort, dear, it's inelegant,” she teased. “I've got my eye on them, and I'll shut them down if I think they need it. Everyone else is...watchful, I guess. McGarrity doesn't let much get out.”

“Yeah, she's amazing,” Steve said. “Seriously, come visit just to meet her. You two would get on like a house on fire.”

“I'll clear a few days soon,” Nat promised. “It's been too long since I kicked your ass.”

“Natalia Romanoff, do you _miss_ me?” Steve asked, utterly delighted.

“You wish. I miss Sam, and you can tell him that from me.”

“I'll film his reaction for you,” Steve promised. 

“Good boy. I'll let you go. Go get some kisses or something.”

Steve laughed. “Talk to you soon, Nat. Seriously, I miss you. Call me for gossip time soon?”

“I promise, you big loser. I love you too, Steve.” Unsurprisingly, she hung up immediately. 

Steve went to go find Sam, a healthy spring in his step.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come hang out with me at dietraumerei.tumblr.com
> 
> PS if you got Nat's 'i really like how he leans' reference, congratulations, we are now besties.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story earns its rating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lets have a nice easy 'un to get us back in the groove, shall we?

“Honestly Buck, you've got half the forest in your hair,” Steve said, finger-combing out grass and bits of twigs and even a tiny flower. “Did you roll around a meadow when I wasn't looking?”

“No, I rolled around when you were _right beside_ me and on top of me and under me, if you'll recall,” Bucky teased, holding still so Steve could finish tidying him up.

Steve reached for a brush, running it through Bucky's hair easily, now that it was cleared of vegetal matter. “ That was not my fault.”

“What, you tripped and fell and landed on my mouth?”

“Yes.” Steve laughed, smoothing the dark hair with heavy strokes. “You want this braided or anything?”

“Nah, loose is fine. Thanks,” Bucky added when Steve set the brush aside. “You got anything you need to do, Stevie?”

“No. You?”

“No.” Bucky twisted around in the chair and grinned at him. “Wanna make out on my bed?”

“Always.” Steve was giggling like he was just some guy, like he hadn't seen war, and Bucky was grinning at him the same way. They couldn't always be young men with each other, but sometimes, sometimes...

He helped Bucky to bed, but more for an excuse to touch than because he really needed it. Bucky still wore  his leg brace, but his gait was easing every day, and he likely wouldn't need the walking stick for much longer. (Which, Steve observed with a purely internal sigh, probably wouldn't keep him from  _using_ it, because he liked how it make him look like a toff.)

Bucky settled in the middle, lying down on the dark comforter, and Steve sat beside him, just looking down at him for a moment, probably (definitely) smiling like a dope. Bucky was still thin, the curve of his ribcage visible under his thin t-shirt, but he was filling out. His eyes didn't look hollow anymore, and the hand he reached out to rub Steve's thigh wasn't skeletal; it was warm and strong. “Stop starin', you're makin' me self-conscious.”

“Bullshit, you love being stared at,” Steve said, and dipped his head for a kiss. “Always did. Makes you think you're more handsome than you are.”

Bucky cackled. “Bullshit yourself! I am very handsome.” He cupped Steve's cheek in one hand, thumb rubbing just under one eye. “So fuckin' gorgeous,” he murmured, leaving it ambiguous as to just who was gorgeous.

Steve rested his hand on Bucky's belly and turned his head to kiss the soft palm. Bucky would have to get his callouses back.

(Maybe. They still didn't talk about what was going to come next.)

Bucky slowly drew Steve down beside him, kisses becoming openmouthed, tasting each other, tongues meeting, teasing (Steve made Bucky laugh when he licked the tip of his nose, Bucky got revenge when he nibbled and licked Steve's ear until he was moaning, then shoved his tongue _into_ Steve's ear which, gross.)

Steve had Bucky in his arms, kissing him again and again, and promising himself he'd pay attention to something other than Bucky's mouth any minute now, definitely this was the last time he'd  _need_ Bucky's lips on his, okay, no,  _this_ was the last time, this should be getting boring, but it never, ever did. He held the slim body close, one hand moving down Bucky's back and then resting, just resting, on the curve of his bottom. (Or, what would be a curve. Muscle mass was a work in progress.)

“Please?” Bucky asked, almost shy, like Steve would ever say no. He squeezed, and kissed harder.

“What d'you want, baby?” he asked, trying not to rut against Bucky's thigh. This was meant to be slow and easy, summer sunlight falling all around them, the quiet buzz of afternoon.

“Naked. Both of us. Wanna undress you,” he said.

“Only if I can undress you,” Steve countered, and laughed when Bucky started tugging Steve's shirt off. “Jesus, you're fresh.”

“Yeah, 'cause you're a fuckin' innocent,” Bucky countered, and moaned when Steve was bared to the waist, lowering his head to kiss the line of Steve's collarbone, down to his pectoral, lapping delicately at one nipple. “Oh, _God_.”

“Steve, actually.”

“Mother of Jesus, I am gonna make someone drive you to a church just so you can say an Our Father for that one,” Bucky swore, but he was still suckling and kissing his way across Steve's chest, so he could be as cheeky as he wanted and Steve was not exactly going to stop him. “Fuck. Fuck, you're so perfect. _Steve_.”

Steve tried not to blush and failed utterly, pale skin going red from hairline to belly. This, of course, only delighted the asshole he'd gone and fallen in love with, who kissed the flushed skin.

They discovered that when Bucky rubbed his thumb across Steve's nipple and sucked a mark up on his neck at the same time, Steve's brain turned inside-out. They also discovered that when Bucky kissed right over Steve's heart and whispered a quiet 'thank you', they both had to stop and hold each other until they weren't going to cry,  even as Steve pressed little kisses to Bucky's hairline.  The poignant moment ended quickly enough, and Bucky returned to kissing his way down Steve's chest, thumb pressing the muscle of his waist, until his lips hovered over the button on Steve's waistband.

“Yeah,” Steve whispered. “Love, yes.”

Bucky smiled against Steve's skin and slowly popped the button, then less slowly lowered the zipper. Steve was hard – obviously – and he sucked in a breath at the feel of the backs of Bucky's fingers against his cock, even through the thin fabric of his briefs. “Oh--”

“Shhh,” Bucky soothed, kissing right where the hair started on Steve's belly. “Shh, sweetheart. Good and easy, yeah?”

Steve smiled and forced himself to relax. “Yeah.”

“It's called having fun, you should try it.”

Steve gave him a little shove. “Oh, fuck off.”

Bucky laughed and got Steve out of his jeans, good and easy just like he promised. They necked a little more while Bucky ran his fingertips under the waistband of Steve's underwear and then, easy as anything, Steve was lying there naked, his cock hard, the tip already wet.

“Oh, _yes_ ,” Bucky sighed and wrapped his hand loosely around it, just holding, almost cradling it while he kissed Steve and Steve tried his hardest to not actually bodily ascend to heaven.

“Can I...” He touched the hem of Bucky's shirt. “Please. I want to see you, love.”

“What, you didn't get enough with the sponge-baths?” Bucky teased, and Steve wondered how it had taken him _so_ long to learn that Bucky laughed to cover self-consciousness, or fear, or pain. He had been at his most wild and funny and self-deprecating after Azzano. He had also been hurting and scared and Steve was such a shitty friend, so focused on himself –

Right. Bucky. Naked. Or soon to be.

“No, I didn't,” he said, and meant it, and let that show. His hand fitting nicely around Bucky's face, fingers slotting in behind his jaw, the raw planes of his face only just now filling out. Steve kissed him softly and, one-handed, started to undo the sling that held the useless metal arm in place. “Okay?” he asked, moving Bucky's arm to rest on the bed, so he wouldn't have to deal with the weight of it.

“Okay,” Bucky acknowledged, and swallowed hard, so Steve kissed him again, kissed him until he had to stop so he could lift Bucky's t-shirt all the way off.

He sighed happily, and went to work, caressing and kissing Bucky's chest, nuzzling the curve of his neck. He didn't ignore the scars; the ones from his shoulder, the terrible one in his side, but neither did he give them particular attention. That could come later, and right now, Steve just wanted to...worship. That was it. To worship Bucky's body with his own. 

He pressed wet kisses along Bucky's breastbone, then suckled at one nipple, then the other, smiling at the noises Bucky made. “ Good?”

“Yeah,” Bucky managed, his voice cracking, and Steve pushed himself up to kiss him thoroughly, then nuzzle at his cheek until Bucky was giggling. He finished by blowing a raspberry on Bucky's throat, then went back to work, the atmosphere considerably, and correctly, lighter.

“You're gorgeous,” Steve said suddenly, because he was. Bucky's skin was smooth and soft between the scars. His face was finely-drawn, and his arms were weirdly asymmetrical, and his belly was concave and he was _gorgeous_. He was everything Steve ever wanted, every perfect part of him, and Steve told him so, kissing his way down the body he'd loved for decades. (Time asleep counted in this case. Being technically dead hadn't stopped him loving Bucky; nothing could.)

H e undid the leg brace while kissing Bucky's belly, nipped a little at his side while he undid his jeans, and bitched mightily when he had to literally peel Bucky out of the skinny jeans (taking his underwear with him; Steve wasn't dumb).

He smiled at Bucky, lying naked on the bed, sloe-eyed and with hair tangled and limbs loose and easy and – oh.

“Hey,” Steve said softly, resting his hand on Bucky's thigh, next to his cock, lying soft against his leg. “You okay, baby?”

Bucky huffed a sigh. “ _Yes_ . I'm sorry. I don't know...”

“Shhh. Long as you're happy in your head, you know?” A kiss, because he could. “You're happy, right?”

“I'm in bed with Captain America wrapped around me shoving his body up against mine and we're kissing each other stupid. What do _you_ think?” Bucky asked, and Steve laughed and laid down along him.  He cupped Bucky's cock and balls in his hand, almost protective. Trauma, illness, regaining strength, any of a hundred explanations. They would deal with that later, as long as Bucky was happy _now_.

“Okay, okay. Just. What can I do that will feel good?” he asked, a little shyly. He was _so_ bad at this.

“Kisses are good. Hold me. Let me – here.” Bucky rolled over into Steve's arms, and wrapped his hand around Steve's cock, and not loosely this time. “Let me, for you.”

“No! I mean --” Steve hesitated, and told his body to calm down for fourteen seconds because Bucky's hand was _moving_ and oh God he was going to die of an orgasm, he really was. “No, baby, love, it's not fair --”

“Shut up. I say it's fair. Think of it as an orgasm you'll owe me,” Bucky said, almost harsh, then he kissed Steve until he did shut up. “I want to make you so happy, my gorgeous guy. My fella, my Stevie,” he murmured, kissing across Steve's mouth and his jaw, his hand moving faster, still strong. “C'mon, for me, baby, come for me, no, don't hold on – we got all the time to do this, don't hold yourself so still. Oh. Oh, yeah,” Bucky praised while Steve started to roll his hips. “That's my man, that's my Stevie.”

“Yeah, yours, oh God, Bucky, Buck, faster,” Steve gasped, trying to kiss back and mostly trying to not turn into a supernova as Bucky sucked a mark up onto his neck, as those slender legs wrapped around him, as his hand moved faster, spread the wetness, and finally Steve came, for far longer and stronger than a simple hand job really warranted.

(If – no, when – they had sex, like actual penetrative sex, he would definitely die. No question about it oh God just the  _thought_ of Bucky underneath him wailing his name, or Bucky behind him holding his hips and fucking him and Steve hoped his whimper was pretty quiet, at least.)

Bucky laughed and kissed him, and Steve was laughing too, the two of them wrapped together, rolling around the bed, not careful of each other for once. Steve  flopped on top of Bucky and tried to squash him, Bucky pinched his bottom, Steve smeared them both with come because, as Bucky informed him, he was disgusting  _and_ a dirty fighter.

So Steve licked Bucky's belly clean while Bucky cussed him out, his voice suddenly strained, and then there was kissing again, deep and long and different now.  Not in a bad way but – different.

“I love you,” Steve said, because he did, and it made no sense not to say it.

Bucky's expression softened, and there seemed to be some kind of internal war going on in his head, lasting a few seconds.

“I love you too,” was all he said, though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience with my sporadic updates! I'm hoping to go back to once a week or so again :)
> 
> dietraumerei.tumblr.com


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a graveside ritual, carried out regularly - nightmares are a fact of life, but a shitty one -- A funny thing happened on the way to St. Petersburg, turns out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLY SCHNIKIES YOU GUYS WE GOT US A CHAPTER COUNT.
> 
> "But Die," I hear you saying, "I haven't really suffered enough yet, and neither has Steve. I don't know if five more chapters is really going to wrap this up."
> 
> Oh no, my young children. There is so much more porn and plot and pathetic super-soldiers yet to come. Because 29 chapters will be Part One of a two-part story. Yup, there's gonna be a sequel! 
> 
> (I mean, in the way that A Song of Ice and Fire is a series of sequels. It's a direct continuation of the story, but it just...needed a new book, y'know?)
> 
> In other words, I will be writing this fucking story until the day I die oh god oh god help.

Will Brady knelt at the gravestone and put down a bunch of carnations. “Hey Carol,” he said, settling down to pay his respects. “It's me. Looks like Ron's been by,” he continued, noting the single red rose, still relatively fresh. “I guess he told you about Ivy's concert? He sent us all a clip of it. She sounded _great_. Definitely got Ron's singing talent, going by karaoke night  with you.” He smiled, and tidied the soft grass a little, pulling up an errant dandelion. “She's an awesome kid, y'know, you should be proud of her.”

He sat quietly for a little bit, then. He  carried out this  ritual  every day he had off; with most of his team wiped out when the helicarriers fell, he could only visit each grave every so often. Brady kept up with their families as much as he could; he'd loved listening to their stories about kids, spouses, dogs, whatever. They'd been close-knit, and one of the best teams because of it. That's why they – minus Brady, who had been on sick-leave after catching a bullet in the  _stupidest_ mission of all time – had been there.

“Cap's safe, and I'm gonna keep him that way,” he finally said quietly. “I know he was always your favorite. I didn't wanna recommend you for his STRIKE team, 'cause I liked having you in mine, you know? But I promise. I'm gonna make sure he's safe, for you.”

He got up after a little while longer, and headed to where he'd parked. The full heat of summer was upon DC; that particular wet-hot heaviness that filled the air just before the Fourth of July and would linger until after the end of the dog days of August. Brady was sweating even in a t-shirt and shorts, and he opened the car door for a few minutes before he got in so the interior could air out; all the shady spots had been taken.

He kept his silence as he drove home; it felt right to be quiet and calm. Before the Winter Soldier had killed her, Carol had been quiet and calm, fazed by nothing. She had probably died in her habitual relaxed stance. Cap had fallen out of the sky gentle as anything; he hoped Carol had gone the same way.

Brady let himself into his apartment and turned on the a/c before he went into his office. He turned on Spotify – picking up the  _Hamilton_ soundtrack where he'd left off, because it had been over twenty-four hours since he had listened to  _Hamilton_ which was no way to live a life – and settled down at his computer. There wasn't much undamaged footage of The Winter Soldier, but he was piecing together what he could find, and repairing what was fixable.

“I...I wanna be in the room where it happens, the room where it happens,” he sang along softly, enhancing the grainy footage as best he could. “I've got to be, I've got to be --” Ah, there was a clue. A weakness, maybe. Cap had the Soldier in a hold, the two of them matched strength but – there. The Soldier's non-cyborg arm. Cap had dislocated it, and Soldier dropped the chip. The Soldier also screamed. So he felt pain, like anyone else. 

Brady stopped, made a note, and returned to singing along with Aaron Burr while he softened his eyes to take in every detail. Soft eyes; _talk less_ and _smile more_. That was how to be a special agent, in these dark days.

 

Bucky was trapped. He wasn't supposed to have been trapped, he was the best. The Asset was stronger than any man. He was changing the world for the better, and no one could stand in his way.

But the man on the bridge was wrapped around him, holding him still. The man on the bridge knew him, and  _he_ knew  _him_ –  _Steve_ oh God it's Stevie, no, he can't forget. He can't forget Steve again, his Stevie, who looked like someone was scraping him out from the inside and he took Bucky's arm and he--

Bucky woke up mid-scream. At least it was too hot for blankets, so he hadn't tied himself up again by accident, and he didn't destroy another comforter.

“Bucky! Bucky, love, love, you're safe. Look at me, you're safe.”

Bucky looked around the room frantically, but he couldn't see, he couldn't  _see_ , it shouldn't have been this dark, and he gasped for breath, ready to scream again, when his vision finally cleared. It was countryside-dark in the room; with only fingers of moonlight giving things shapes.

“I'm turning on the lamp.” And Steve was there in the golden pool, and Bucky choked on nothing, coughed and hoped he wouldn't be sick as the memories flooded back sharp, _real_. Shooting at Steve, Steve stopping him, the wet _pop_ of his shoulder and the agony, and he was on hands and knees, retching from a nightmare.

“Shhh, shhh. Bucky, no. Bucky, it's a memory, it can't hurt you.”

Oh that is some fuckin' bullshit right there, Rogers, and Steve halted, seeming to realize this.

“Bucky, breathe. You're safe. You're in New York and you're free and you're safe.”

Free and safe was such weird concepts. They were a thing you believed in because believing otherwise was dangerous, but they weren't actually  _true_ .

“Listen to my voice, Bucky. Focus on that.”

The voice that pleaded with him – no. Bucky forced a deep breath, and concentrated. This was the voice that said I love you. This was his Steve.

“That's great, you're doing great. Steady breaths for me – yeah, you remember the pattern.” And Bucky did, the count swimming up in his broken brain. And he stopped the horrible gasping, sucking sound, although his chest still hurt. And he sat up, ignoring the drag of his metal arm. And the glow of the lamp was yellow and warm in the dark night, but he went to turn it off anyway. He couldn't look at Steve right then, he needed the quiet moonlight. Too much to deal with; light distracted.

“You with me?” Steve asked softly, after a long time, and finally Bucky nodded.

“Good.” He felt Steve move and settle beside him. He felt Steve practically vibrate with the need to ask Bucky how he was, offer to get him water, a snack, hell, he could probably ask for an actual star right now and Steve would give it to him, like in a fairy tale; he'd catch a tiny glow and put it on a chain for Bucky to wear.

Bucky's brain, he was learning, was  _weird_ . But at least fairytales were better than –

“You dislocated my arm,” he blurted out, and of course he chose _then_ to look at Steve, and of course his serum-enhanced vision meant he could see every single line of Steve Roger's face as overwhelming guilt and pain filled it. All because Bucky had no impulse control.

“I'm sorry,” he said, and it was Steve's turn to choke on his words. He raised his fist to his mouth, and took a deep breath. “I'm so sorry. I didn't...I'm so sorry, Buck. If I could have done it without hurting you, I swear, I swear--”

“Oh my God, shut up, Rogers,” Bucky said roughly, and pulled Steve into a hug. It felt...better than he'd feared. “You did the right thing. You had to, to save the world.”

“But I hurt you,” Steve said quietly. “I knew I was, the way you were screaming. I knew who you were, and I hurt you.”

“Steve, I _shot_ you,” Bucky said, because oh yeah, he remembered that, too,  powerful and real and visceral. He kept his eyes open and meeting Steve's, because even the pain there was better than closing his eyes and seeing the red blossom on Steve's chest at the end of Bucky's gun. “Steve, oh my God. I shot you. How can you stand to be in the same bed as me, I tried to kill you.” How can you love me. How.

“It wasn't you,” Steve said, not missing a beat, and his arms wrapped around Bucky's waist, the two of them holding each other. Bucky told himself that Steve was being careful, and gentle. Not tentative because he was afraid of Bucky.

(Steve was way,  _way_ too dumb to be afraid of Bucky.  _Prey animals_ were smarter than Steve.)

“You were following orders,” he continued, his usual litany. “They lied to you and said you were making the world better, so of course you gave it your all. You didn't know, and you weren't in your right mind.” He kissed Bucky's temple. “It's not your fault, love. None of it is.”

“But I still did it. And I remember it,” Bucky said, a little dully.

“I know.” Steve's voice cracked. “And I would give anything, _anything_ so that you didn't have nightmares, didn't have to deal with this. And Bucky, I'm so sorry I hurt you. I can't...I'm _so_ sorry, and I swear I never will again.”

This. This is why he checked in regularly with Sarah, to make sure she was still the one willing to take him out, should the need arise. Because his friend – no, his lover now, his beloved – shouldn't, and couldn't.

“I know,” Bucky said, and meant it. He finger-combed Steve's rough hair, cradling his head in his good hand. “I know, love. I know you'll never hurt me.”

“Never again,” Steve vowed. “And I'll kill anyone who lays a finger on you.”

“Tati excepted,” Bucky said, and let his smile tell in his voice. Tati was at least as competitive at Trivial Pursuit as he was, and the last game had ended with her sitting astride his waist while he lay on his belly, punching his shoulders until he admitted that her answer was, technically, correct.

“Well, you deserved that one,” Steve admitted, and if the tension wasn't broken, it was significantly lessened.

Bucky took a careful deep breath, and winced. “How much did I scream?”

“Not much, but you made up for it in volume.” Steve kissed his brow. “Stay here, I'll get you some water.”

“No! I mean. Don't leave me alone right now, please?” Bucky said, suddenly terrified. What if Steve left, and he forgot? His brain was so fucked up, what if he reverted to the Winter Soldier? “My throat'll heal in a few hours, at most. Right?”

“Mine always does,” Steve admitted softly. He wrapped his arm around Bucky's shoulders, and laid them both down, the two of them sharing a single pillow. “I've got you, love. I'm not going anywhere, Bucky.”

He wouldn't. He  _wouldn't_ . Bucky had to believe that; had to believe the scans that showed his brain healing. Had to believe that he would always remember the man who was fussing with their pillow, whose hand was heavy and warm on Bucky's waist. It was a warm night, but Bucky huddled close anyway, selfish. And pretended to be asleep when Steve kissed his right shoulder, a long press of lips, an unnecessary apology.

 

_**Natasha:** All right already, Jesus._

_**Steve:** What?_

_**Natasha:** Don't play innocent with me, Rogers_

_**Steve:** I have no idea what you're talking about._

_**Natasha:** _ _I'll be there tomorrow for your birthday._

_**Steve:** Aww, Nat, you're the best friend a guy could ask for!_

_**Natasha:** _ _Yes, yes I am. OK to call you now?_

_**Steve:** Hang on, Bucky's asleep and I don't want to wake him, I'll call you in a minute._

Steve leaned over and brushed a kiss on Bucky's temple. Poor guy; Tati had put him through his paces and he'd just about made it to Steve's room before falling asleep. He was curled adorably around Steve's pillow, his face a little flushed in the late afternoon warmth, and Steve contemplated taking a picture of him. Well, hell, you only lived once – and a peaceful, sleeping Bucky was Steve's new wallpaper by the time he got out to one of the more rarely-used living rooms.

“You're _disgusting_. I will bring a spray bottle to use on the two of you, see if I don't.”

“You wish we'd make out in front of you,” Steve said gleefully. Natasha couldn't come visit soon enough.

“You are not remotely as cute as you think you are.”

“Yeah I am. My _boyfriend_ tells me I am,” Steve said in a sing-song voice.

“I will be at that house tomorrow, but it's because I want to meet the women who haven't murdered you yet, and I miss Sam. It has nothing to do with you,” Natasha said.

“Fine, I'll be in my bedroom. Making out. With my _boyfriend_.” Steve had never had an older sister to irritate the shit out of, and he found he had been missing out.

Natasha made a loud, annoyed sound, while Steve cackled.

“Okay, for real,” she said. “Give me the rundown on the states of everyone. Everyone _other_ than Barnes, you're compromised  there.”

“That's what she said,” Steve said. 

“I will hang up and call Sam instead,” Natasha threatened.

“Nah, you can do that afterwards and bitch with him about me and Bucky.” Steve slouched down on the sofa and put his (bare – he wasn't an actual _barbarian_ ) feet up on a coffee table. “General rundown time. Sam is actually really good at taking vacations, it turns out; he's helping out around the house and he and Lisle keep working together on various little things, but mostly he goes running and goes for walks and seems to be soaking up the not-being-shot-at thing they've got going on here. We go running most mornings. He's still got trauma, but he's processing it. We talk about it sometimes, and it's...good,” Steve said slowly, realizing that it was. “It's nice to have another veteran around. And it's nice to know I can help _him_ somehow.”

Natasha was quiet for a long moment. “I'm glad neither of you are alone,” she said, her voice gentle for a moment. “Tell me about the ladies.”

“Good. Tati's on a new medication, and it's a little rocky in some ways, but she pretty much always has spoons left over at the end of the day now, which is amazing. She went for a walk with me and Bucky the other day, and it was really fun.” They had chased each other around, all three of them, and Steve had given Tati a piggyback ride home and Bucky had made them all tea and they'd watched a few episodes of _My So-Called Life_ after Steve had asked about the whole leaning thing. 

“Lisle's working hard on Bucky's arm; she's actually in town with Stark today. She really doesn't want to remove it, but I think they're looking into that now,” he admitted. “She's amazing as ever, and all.” It had been forty-eight hours since one of her hugs, and he actively missed her. “Fantastic about coordinating care. Not just Bucky, but me and Sam, too, making sure we have access to what and whoever we need. And Sarah's busy. I've been meeting with her regularly, mostly to make contingency plans if we all ever have to leave in a hurry, but we're going over security and tactics and things. And, uh, woodland management.”

Natasha laughed out loud. “Are you serious?”

“I am! We've got a couple acres of forest here, and it turns out you can't just...let trees grow. Well, you _can_ , but a managed forest is actually a lot more interesting and it's healthier in a lot of ways, and it means we'll have firewood this winter and. Yeah. So I'm learning a lot about that.”

“You planning to still be there this winter?”

“I don't know,” Steve admitted. “Everything hinges on Bucky. I mean, Sam and I are getting a lot out of this too, but it's all for him, about him. He's doing unbelievably well physically.”

“But not mentally?” Nat asked, not unkindly.

“I don't know. I mean. He's got brain damage, you know? And some of it might never heal.” Steve swallowed, thinking about the blank moments in Bucky's eyes, the way he went other places sometimes. His struggle to read – he could now, slowly and painfully, but he could barely write his own name. Nightmares, the dreams that were always about either killing, or forgetting who he was again. “He's getting better.”

“That's good. Remember how you found him, Steve.”

Steve let out a shuddering breath. “Believe I will never forget that.” Bucky wasn't the only one with nightmares.  At least Steve's were mixing it up now; instead of just ice and war, he dreamed of Bucky dying in a hospital bed.

“It hasn't even been a month,” she reminded him. “It takes nine of 'em to grow a whole new person. Let Bucky show you who he is, don't decide for him.”

“I would never,” Steve said, a little sharply.

“All I'm saying is, he's healing with super-soldier speed. Things might surprise you.”

Steve sighed. “Yeah. I mean. Yeah. He's really...doing a lot better. And I know he's thinking about what he'll do, after. I mean, we have to leave here eventually.”

“Do you really think you'd be happy, living in the country and managing a forest?”

With Bucky? With that sly, sarcastic sense of humor, and whip-smart brain, and body that was made for loving? If he could have Bucky with him every single day, a Bucky free of fighting and fear and pain, a Bucky doing what he loved?

“No,” Steve admitted. “Nat, there's so much to do, still.”

“Mmmhmm. Enjoy what you've got now. You've earned it, Steve. But keep an eye on the future – the good parts, too.”

“Yes ma'am.” Steve smiled and picked a little at the sofa. “What time you getting here tomorrow, d'you think?”

“Mid-morning? It depends on if I can steal a chopper or have to drive like a plebian.”

Steve laughed out loud. “God forbid.”

“Precisely.”

They chatted a little more – mostly about what Nat wanted for lunch, and what Steve was getting for his birthday ('ham sandwiches' and 'like I'd tell you that', respectively), and then Nat had to go just as Bucky wandered in, yawning and disheveled, and plunked down with his head on Steve's lap.

“Who w's that?” he mumbled, snuggling closer.

(The Winter Soldier had been unkillable by ordinary weapons. However, if someone had thought to airdrop a warm blanket and some cake and maybe a pillow or six, he could have been subdued in minutes.)

“Nat. She's coming to visit for my birthday tomorrow.”

“Oh.” Bucky went very still.

“What?” Steve asked, concerned. “What's wrong, Buck?”

Bucky turned over and frowned at the ceiling, remembering. “Have I met her before?”

“Uh.” Steve swallowed. “You. You kinda shot her. Twice, actually.”

Bucky frowned harder. “No, I mean. She defected, right?”

“Um, yeah. It was after the Soviet Union fell, but uh...basically, yes. Why?” Steve asked carefully.

Bucky bit his lip and then smiled weakly up at him. “Hey, so this might be awkward, but it turns out my ex who I tried to kill twice is coming to your birthday party tomorrow.”

“Oh, shit,” said Steve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Your comments really keep me going, and really get me thinking about this thing.
> 
> dietraumerei.tumblr.com


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> an old friend visits -- Steve Rogers' excellent birthday -- a comparison of notes on SHIELD -- Tony offers options and Bucky offers his hangover cure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear I didn't mean for this to line up with Steve Rogers' birthday! But I ain't complaining, either.

“Natasha's arriving today-ay-ay!” Sam warbled, almost on-key, as Steve and Bucky came into the kitchen for breakfast.

“Natasha,” Bucky came in, definitely not on-key.

“Steven,” Lisle sang, perfectly on-key and drawing out the syllables. The three of them waited the requisite beat (which – oh, Peggy, Steve's heart felt sharp and too big for his chest for a moment), and chorused, “The Schuyler sisters.”

“I hate you all,” Steve informed them.

“You wish. You're the spirit of America, you can't hate us,” Sam said gleefully.

“You really can't,” Lisle teased. “C'mon, a woman, a black man, and your disabled boyfriend? You _literally are not allowed_ to hate us, Steve.”

“I regret my life choices.”

Bucky snickered, and smacked a kiss onto Steve's cheek. “Of course you do, baby. Is there enough coffee, or should I make another pot?”

“There's plenty,” Lisle assured him. “I'm just gonna fill one of the big carafes, keep us going all day.” She poured out mugs for Bucky and Steve, and Sam went back to making pancakes and checking on the bacon in the oven.

Lisle joined the two men at the table, pausing to kiss the top of Steve's head. “Happy birthday, sweetheart, for real.”

“Um. Thank you.” Steve ducked his head and smiled at her. This was not a thing he was really ever going to get used to. “Nat texted me, she should be here in an hour or two, depending on how long it would take to requisition a chopper.”

Lisle snickered. “Sounds good – traffic's always hell around here today anyway. Oh. Sam, listen up, this is important for you too. We're usually too far from anyone else to hear fireworks, but sometimes the neighbors shoot them off, and the wind can carry the sound, and the smell. You guys know all the soundproof rooms if you need them, right?”

Steve reached out for Bucky's elbow – the left one, but, well, Bucky would see him squeeze it at least. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“Good to know, thank you,” Sam said politely. He dished up the first round of pancakes and bacon, did them up exactly as Steve liked them (a lot of butter, not much syrup), and added red, white and blue sprinkles before setting them in front of Steve. “Birthday boy first.”

“Aw, Sam. Thanks.”

“God I love getting gifts for people from the Depression era,” Sam teased. “Some carbs and you're all mine.”

“Sam, I was yours long before you made me food,” Steve cooed, eyelashes fluttering.

“I expect _way_ more than pancakes on my birthday,” Bucky informed him simultaneously.

“This is why I like Steve better than you,” Sam told him, although Steve noticed that the next round of pancakes were going to be even bigger than his. “Also I'll be sure to disappoint you next March.”

“I'd expect nothing less,” Bucky said, and tried to steal some of Steve's bacon, until Steve threatened to stab him with a fork.

 

“Where's my birthday boy!” Nat yelled as soon as she set foot in the house. Sarah had gone to meet her in a field a little way distant, flat enough for a safe landing, and the two women had, Steve noted, taken their time coming back to the house.

“Oh my God,” Steve said, hiding his face in his hands. Natasha was. Well. She was wearing a dress.

“I am pretty sure that is technically illegal,” Sam said, but his voice was the voice of a man quietly losing his heart. And mind.

“Fuck you, I look amazing.” Nat gave a little twirl and the star-spangled skirt flew up. She was wearing dance shorts underneath. They were red and sparkly, and had ruffles on the butt. “Happy birthday, I came as the spirit of my adopted nation. Costumes are okay, right?”

The top of the dress consisted of red and white striped fabric, cut tight, and there was a big silver star over Nat's heart. She was wearing silver flats and her hair was longer than when Steve had last seen her, curly and pulled back in a ponytail.

It was the hair that did it – the little pang that meant it had been so long since he'd seen her, and he held out his arms and she gave a little dancer's leap and the performance was over for a few minutes while they hugged, friends saying hello again after too long apart.

“Hiya,” Nat whispered in his ear.

“Thanks for coming,” he whispered back, too quietly for anyone else to hear.

“Wouldn't miss it for the world.”

He hugged her a little tighter, and she kissed his cheek, intentionally leaving a print, and he finally let her down to rub at the mark and make a face.

“Sam, how have you not killed him in his sleep?” she said warmly, going to give Sam a hug and get one in return.

“Bucky,” she said politely. “It's lovely to meet you.”

He had been sitting in a chair, quiet and watching, dressed in dark clothes and obviously intending to fade into the background if he needed to.

Fuck. Steve loved him so much it physically hurt, and if Nat had a problem with that...well, they'd figure it out. He went over and sat on the armrest of the chair, his arm around Bucky's shoulders.

“Natalia.” Bucky swallowed and looked up at her, and smiled. “Sweetheart, I _remember_ you.”

She didn't betray her feelings at all. Well, what had Steve expected? Such things had been beaten out of her, and could your heart break for the people around you who deserved so much better than they'd ever gotten? He decided yes.

Natasha nodded, a quick motion, face neutral. “Well. You're doing better, then, I take it.”

“So much better.” He smiled, his eyes glowing a little with so much fondness. Oh. Oh – fuck off, jealousy. Steve wrenched his feelings under control. He had no right. “You look amazing.”

They smiled at each other, tentative, and Bucky was the first to break, laughing and then pushing himself up, limping over to her and pulling her into a hug. “Oh my God, my little fighter. I am so proud of you.”

Nat gave a little yelp, but hugged back readily. “I swear, if I'd known who you were, if I'd had more courage, I would have --”

Bucky shushed her, while Steve tried to hide the fact that he would have, if given the chance, quite possibly died in that moment. He did not deserve these people.

“You did fine,” he said warmly, and backed off a little, smiling at her. “The past is a foreign country,”

“They do things differently there,” she finished, and they hugged again. “I'm still pissed at you for shooting at me. I put weight on that shoulder for a month.”

“I'm sorry,” he said, and kissed her forehead. “I know the frustration.”

She rubbed his metal arm like it was nothing, like it was familiar, and Steve bit back another little spurt of jealousy. This was the best possible outcome; for them to still care for each other. He had no right.

Bucky turned to him and smiled, and held out his good hand. “Hey Stevie.”

And as he always had, Steve followed, and took his hand, and Bucky pulled him close and kissed his cheek. And Nat pulled a spray bottle out of her handbag and got them both with it.

 

“Why didn't you _tell_ me,” Steve said, as they headed for the boundary fence. Natasha had changed into something slightly more comfortable, but she was still wearing a Captain America t-shirt. And had brought matching shirts for everyone but Steve.

(I was going to take an actual Act of God to pry Tati and Bucky out of theirs.)

“What good would it do?” she replied, following Steve along the narrow path, where it wound through a stand of holly trees. 

“But you loved him,” Steve said, a little numbly. He had loved Bucky for longer than everyone he knew had been alive, and couldn't imagine hiding that. How did you hide loving Bucky?

“Yes. And then things ended, and life happened. It's not the same for me as it is for you,” Nat said patiently. “I will always care about the boy I knew. But I don't know who this man who wears his face is. I want to know him, I think I'll like him, but it's not the _same_.”

“That's not really answering my question,” Steve said. “You could have told me.”

“I could have,” she agreed.

They walked silently, the dark green trees giving way to brilliant sunshine. Nat picked a poppy flower and tucked it into her hair.

“I'm sorry,” Steve said quietly. “I got no right to pry.”

Nat sighed noisily and turned around, stopping him. “Steve,  _stop_ . Not everything is about you, and not everything needs to be carried on your shoulders.” She stepped forward to touch his arm, but didn't soften her words. “I didn't tell you for lots of reasons, and I don't owe you those reasons. But I'm happy for you, and I'm happy that you and he make each other happy. Is that enough?”

Steve opened his mouth, and closed it, then opened it again.

“But who makes you happy?”he asked, voice cracking.

Natasha burst out laughing and went up on tiptoe to give him a huge hug. She was, like, one-eighth the size of him, how could she squeeze so tightly?

“Never you mind,” she said warmly, and kissed his cheek. “Steve, give it a rest. It's your birthday, it's a national holiday, it's a beautiful day. Give it a fucking rest, okay?”

“Okay. Since you put it so nice.” He picked a daisy and bonked her on the nose with it, and she burst out laughing and bonked him right back with her poppy, and they chased each other down the path, racing to the fence.

 

“Hey you.” Steve closed the door behind him softly. “Shh, go back to sleep, sorry.”

Bucky yawned and blinked. “Nnn. S'okay, I'm awake.” He yawned again and sat up. “Ugh. Naps.”

Steve laughed and sat on the bed beside him. “Poor baby,” he teased, and kissed Bucky, loving the warm, sleepy taste of him. So he kissed him again, and again, until they were good and kissed, both of them.

“Everyone's leaving for the lake” he said. “It's a little bit of a walk, but I can piggyback you if you need it.”

Bucky smiled. “Yeah. I'd like that. To go swimming, I mean.” He sighed and rubbed his shoulder. “Sorry I'm a pain.”

“You're not. How're you feeling?”

Bucky gave a one-armed shrug. “Okay. The nap helped a lot.” Bucky had developed a blistering headache not long after his reunion with Nat, and his metal shoulder had begun to ache more, in spite of the supporting brace.

Steve pulled him back into a hug.

“I'm back to not reading again,” Bucky murmured softly, and Steve hugged him more tightly. This had been new – days where all his progress suddenly disappeared. Lisle had been worried, but calm, putting it down to Bucky's brain still healing. Progress wasn't a straight line, Sam regularly reminded them, and Steve thought that in that case _Sam_ could find a weeping, heartbroken Bucky  on his doorstep and try to comfort him.

He calmed his own mind – anger wouldn't help. He couldn't punch pain and brain damage out, but he could kiss Bucky, and remind him that his literacy had come back last time, and kiss him again until he smiled and rested his head on Steve's shoulder.

“Help me get the brace on? I wanna go have fun.” Another little kiss. “It's only my fella's birthday and all.”

“Aw, fuck off.” Steve laughed and kissed his cheek, because he could. He helped Bucky fasten on the plastic leg brace under the loose basketball shorts he was wearing, then helped him stand. Bucky still sometimes took a few breaths to get used to quick movements like this, but he was officially no longer underweight and was off the refeeding diet, and he only had to pause a second, maybe two, before he was off and moving again, asking if he needed a towel, if Steve had put on sunblock, and did someone think to pack some food?

Steve trailed behind him, gathering towels, and remembering that things could go well for them too.

By the time dusk fell, Sarah and Sam had raced each other in swimming a dozen times, Tati had successfully dunked everyone but Nat and demanded that Steve swim out as fast as he could so she could ride him 'like a dolphin', as she put it (and the photos had been pretty amazing.), Steve had eaten an immense amount of cake, and he had made out with Bucky underwater, the two of them taking advantage of the fact that they could both hold their breaths for whole minutes.

“That is gross and disturbing,” had been the general opinion from those gathered, and Nat had flicked water at both of them, and then Sarah had set up a little grill and made enough hot dogs for half the state, and everybody ate themselves sick, and then had more cake.

“Happy birthday,” Sarah said, and kissed his cheek when everyone had finally finished eating – for the moment – and Bucky and Lisle were having a beached-whale competition. “There are presents for you back at the house.”

“Honey, no,” Steve said, and gave her a hug. “You didn't need to get me anything.”

“Who said they were from me?”

“I walked into that one.” Steve grinned, and yanked on a loose strand of her hair. “Seriously. You've given me so much. Thank you.”

“You're welcome,” she said simply, and turned to tend to the grill while Lisle won the competition in the background on the strength of her ability to speak whale.

 

“So that's my side of things,” Nat said, finishing off her report with a sip of coffee the next morning. “You?”

“About the same,” Sarah said. “Regular e-mails asking for updates on Barnes' condition. Bless the poor thing, he's got enough problems still that we can keep going on that for awhile.”

Nat's face softened. “I know I can't get details out of you, but --”

“We don't know,” Sarah said simply. “This may be the best he ever gets, or he may recover completely and never have another problem again. The reality will probably be somewhere between those two points.”

Nat paused. “You _are_ good at this.”

Sarah just smiled. “Practice and all. But you've seen him yourself – that man doesn't deserve to be kept a prisoner, even here. He's going to have to go back into the world eventually.”

“Indeed, and we're already preparing for that.”

“What's the likelihood of his standing trial?” Sarah asked.

“Almost certain, period, even if word doesn't get out that he's been found. Although...a leak identifying the Winter Soldier as a decorated veteran and loyal compatriot of Captain America would definitely help,” Nat mused, like she hadn't thought this through fifty times already. “There _is_ a judicial system in the US, and some protocols have to – really _should_ be – followed. Obviously, trials can be technicalities.”

“Particularly when it's a case that's obvious to anyone who studies the details for more than five minutes,” Sarah agreed. “What happens when it leaks that the Winter Soldier is the love of Captain America's life, though?”

Natasha groaned. “I will kill whoever leaks that, see if I don't.”

Sarah laughed out loud. “It'll count against him that much? I mean, Steve's a blockhead, but he's a  _beloved_ blockhead.”

“It's not that! Gay love story of the century would help them. But everyone knows every detail of both their lives,” Natasha explained, her voice even. “It's not healthy, to not have something to yourself. Steve should have something to himself.”

“Mmmm. Well, I can promise I can buy you another month, probably two. Beyond that...”

“We won't need more than a month, and probably much less,” Nat promised. “The legal department started revving up as soon as Brady reported in.”

“About that.” Sarah made a sour face. “I assume no one's been punished for the abuse Barnes suffered when being captured.”

“It was determined to be acceptable force, considering the target,” Nat said. “I know. I _know_. Brady's kind of a douchebag, and he and the rest of his team will be getting additional training on nonviolent restraint procedures. That's all I can promise you. And to be fair, they knew who they were taking down.”

Sarah made a sour face. “I'm aware of that. And I'm aware I strapped that man to his bed. But there's a difference between that, and what Lisle reported to me.”

“I'm sorry I can't give you more than that,” Nat said, and she sounded it. “The best I can offer is that at least he's recovered quickly.”

“That he has. That serum...I see why people try to reproduce it.”

“It's amazing, isn't it?” Nat said wistfully. “Fuck, what I wouldn't give to be able to recover that fast.”

“Tell me about it.” Sarah leaned back in her chair, ignoring the chime on her phone that meant another e-mail had come through. “If I buy you a month, can you get the boy off?”

“With a month, I'll get him a damn victory parade,” Nat promised.

 

Bucky settled down on the edge of the bed – the one he'd been put in when he first arrived, he guessed. It had come back to the medical center in the west wing, on the second floor. It was sunny and good here; more open than Tati's little kingdom in the basement.

(“I have seniority,” Lisle had explained smugly, and laughed when Bucky gave her a sour look. “Also, I'd rather have the smaller space, but the brighter one. Tati needs the spread down there.”)

Lisle had drawn the shades that day, though; it was burning hot outside and the glare made even Stark's fancy-pants linkup kind of a pain to see, so they were sitting in pleasant, filtered sunlight when Tony appeared on the big screen.

“Happy hungover America Day,” he greeted them, and Lisle gave a small salute.

“Yo, loser,” she said. “Did you at least glance over my notes while taking this morning's remedy?”

“Raw egg, whiskey and cayenne,” Bucky advised. “You'll be fresh as a daisy in no time.”

“I will tell people that you're trying to assassinate me,” Tony said severely. “Good to see you up and about, comrade.”

Bucky contemplated making a comment about the blow-job he'd woken up to that morning but a) was pretty sure Steve would die of embarrassment if Bucky went around bragging about that and b) it had only sort of been the simulacrum of a blow-job, his cock still having not quite gotten the memo. (And, the quiet reason c), that everything was still new and special and perfect, and Steve's smile did funny things to him, and it wasn't a joke. It couldn't be a joke just yet, the miracle where he woke up and stretched and kissed his lover.) “Nice of you to join us?”

Tony sighed. “I expected better of you. Never mind, it's the day after a national holiday, you're a national hero, blah blah blah. I read your notes, Lise.” He folded his hands and pressed his lips against his fingers, and took a deep breath.

Bucky braced for another stream of verbiage.

“Bucky, how much pain are you in that you can definitely attribute to the arm?” he asked.

“Uh? How much?” Bucky blinked. He'd worked through this answer with Tati and Lisle both, and a very strongly modified version of this answer for Steve. “I guess...enough to notice, but not impair what I do,” he said slowly. “Though it is...limiting. I nap a lot still, but that can be attributed to the other fifty-five things my body's trying to heal.”

“Uh huh, uh huh.” Tony frowned. “Very stoic. And in the realm of accurate. Because going by the scans I'm looking at, even with the brace, your arm is trying to rip itself off of you.”

Bucky swallowed hard. “Yeah. It. Sometimes. Yeah, it feels that way.” The raw, sharp aches, the weight, the tendrils of dull pain across his shoulders and back? That could be it.

Lisle twitched, but didn't say anything. He wondered if she and Stark had worked out that Tony would be breaking whatever news to him. That would make sense; Tony was...kinder than his first impression, but he could turn it into a joke, if that's what Bucky needed.

“There's no sign of any restoration of the links between your arm and the rest of your body, but I imagine you could tell me that,” Tony said. “I'm willing to give it a little longer to kick in – like you said, that super-soldier serum is working hard – but I won't lie, it's time to start looking at amputation options.”

“But you said --”

“Ah ah ah. I know what I said, and now I know more.” Tony held up his hand. “I can't remove everything. But I can remove most of it, and it's the dead weight that's being a dead weight.”

“For fuck's sake, Stark, you can do better than that with wordplay.” Bucky sighed, and smiled at Lisle. “It's not my first choice. Please, it's not limiting what I can do yet, give me more time? But if you gotta...” He swallowed, and touched the sling that braced his arm to his side. “How much you gonna take?”

“The entire shell of what you see. Your hand and forearm. As much of your upper arm as I can, safely.” Tony's voice was brisk and calm, thank god. If Lisle had been telling him this, in her gentle voice, Bucky would have started shaking. The arm wasn't what he'd been born with, but it was _his_. Steve wrapped around it at night sometimes, kissed the star on his shoulder. He had fought with it for decades, and it was his. “We can discuss...replacement prosthetics, I guess.”

“No,” Bucky said swiftly. “No replacement. Not yet, anyway.” If he woke up and another part of him had changed suddenly, irrevocably – he pushed away memory of waking up in this bed, of how he couldn't move his neck, his leg, his body held in place and how he felt wrenched out of his own skin, his own head, fucked-up and broken, but _his_.

“All right. You don't want a built-in cupholder and a laser pointer, that's on you.” Tony gave a firm nod, and hit a few buttons. “Lisle, I've sent you my notes on your notes. And I made a schematic – can you take the brace off, Bucky, I'm going to map it onto your arm so we can all see.”

And he and Lisle went off, talking about technicalities, who could do what, and where it would need to happen (Stark Tower, most likely). Bucky listened half-heartedly; he understood what they were saying, but he wanted to look at his arm instead. Blue lights showed what would stay, red what would go, and there was a lot of red.

He bargained for another two weeks – and privately reckoned he could get Lisle to three – promising to be easy on his own body, to work with Tati on redesigning the sling to get better support, anything that would buy him a little more time, that might get his body to repair itself. That might get him his arm back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, and especially for your comments -- they really do keep me going!
> 
> dietraumerei.tumblr.com


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a question is asked -- a report is assessed -- an evening starts with good news

Bucky had started to notice a thing.

It was not a subtle thing, so he was a little ashamed that it had taken him this long to realize it.

As soon as he came within arm's reach, Steve kissed him, or touched his back, or put an arm around his shoulders or his waist. And his touch was always gentle, solicitous. His kisses were feather-soft, his arms careful. He never pulled or pushed Bucky into an embrace, but let him come in his own time (which was nearly always no time at all he wasn't  _dumb_ , even if he sometimes had bad days), and he was always careful when he moved around. He had carried Bucky to bed once when he had mostly fallen asleep outside, and honest to God, Bucky hadn't even felt the rhythm of Steve's walk. He'd barely noticed when he was set down, and Steve pulled a light sheet over him. He was pretty sure Steve had kissed his cheek, and was also pretty sure that without his heightened senses, he wouldn't have felt a thing.

Bucky started to kiss back more enthusiastically, on the theory that Steve just needed reassurance. He still regularly looked at Bucky like Bucky was some amazing present that was about to be taken to the pawn shop so as to ensure food for the week. (Bucky usually found some actual food to shove in Steve's mouth, just in case, at these times. And then the enthusiastic kissing.) He worked twice as hard at his PT; even if his metal arm was useless, the rest of him was filling out well. The latest scan of his leg had shown that he was nearly as good as new. He was barely underweight anymore – and surely Steve wasn't afraid of hurting him?

Finally, he broke down and actually used his words, like he was supposed to.

“Why do you do that?” he asked, well into another necking session. They had walked to their grove of birch trees, protected in the white-gold light and soft grass. Steve had brought a blanket, but it was mostly ignored; the grass was thick and soft, and flowers grew all along the edges of the fairy-circle they were in.

“What, kiss you?” Steve laughed and demonstrated, cupping Bucky's face in gentle, gentle hands. He got close, gave Bucky a moment to pull away if he wanted to, and then kissed him, lush mouth and hands and the warm bulk of him. “You know damn why, you've got your mouth on me often enough.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “ _No_ . I mean. Kiss me so...soft. You hold me soft too, you touch me soft. You ain't gonna hurt me, Steve, you know that right? I'm so much better.”

“I know,” Steve said warmly, and Bucky was pretty sure he could hear a military band start up in the distance, the natural world's response to the pride and love Steve was emitting. “You're doing so well, Bucky.”

“Then why?” Bucky insisted. “Even when I kiss you back hard, you're still so careful.”

Steve shrugged. “It's dumb.”

“Your face is dumb,” Bucky said automatically, and raised his hand to cup the back of Steve's neck. “Sweetheart. That wasn't a complaint. I'm just curious, love.”

Steve smiled a little, and leaned in for a quick kiss. “You were covered in bruises and cuts when they found you. I mean, even aside from the worse injuries. It was pretty clear no one had touched you for any reason but to hurt you in a long time.” He frowned, his jaw working. “Including the team that brought you in. It wasn't right. And I guess. I guess I thought I could even the score. If I only ever touched you gently, touched you in love, that would...be something. Chip away at what's owed to you.”

“Oh, Stevie,” Bucky breathed. “That is _so_ dumb.” He was smiling though, and pulled Steve in for a kiss, just as sweet and careful as any Steve had ever given him. “I love you.”

“Love you too,” Steve said, his voice tense, almost shaking with emotion.

“Shhh, shhh,” Bucky soothed, trying to squirm a little closer. Christ, he hated having only one arm; let alone not being able to hold onto his man properly, it made balancing a helluva thing. “Oh, honey. You're so good to me.” More kisses, pressed to Steve's mouth, his cheeks, his neck. “Thank you.”

Steve just nodded, and hid his face in Bucky's shoulder. Bucky arranged them a little better, so that Steve was resting on him, knew that he was held and comforted. His head was on Bucky's left shoulder which could not possibly have been comfortable, but he wasn't going to move Steve now.

“Love you,” he whispered again, because Steve had probably forgotten in the last three minutes.

 

_To: 931390@shield.homeland.gov_

_From: 009830@shield.homeland.gov_

_Re: Project Ski Trip_

_Sir,_

_Attached please find my initial draft of the extraction plan for the target. I have applied the suggestions for appropriate use of force, and I believe I now fall within the set standards as regards that area of the plan._

 

_To: 009830@shield.homeland.gov_

_From: 931390@shield.homeland.gov_

_cc: 628482@shield.homeland.gov; 800873@shield.homeland.gov_

_Re: Project Ski Trip_

_Sir,_

_Thank you for the amount of personal time and research you put into this draft. No more input on your part is required, Agent. I have returned the draft to you with my notes, though, for your future reference._

_Please note that the initial spec called for a nonviolent option, which you have failed to provide._

 

_To: 931390@shield.homeland.gov_

_From: 628482@shield.homeland.gov_

_Re: Project Ski Trip_

_Interesting reading! I recommend this agent for specialization in particularly volatile targets, I believe he would be well-suited to the task. I'm particularly impressed with the depth of his research._

 

_To: 931390@shield.homeland.gov_

_From: 800873@shield.homeland.gov_

_Re: Project Ski Trip_

_Sir,_

_May I remind you that we are still bound by the Geneva Convention, even the given target. I recommend not implementing this plan._

_My liaisons within the legal department assure me that extraction will not be required. The gentleman under discussion has expressed no sign of a violent nature, and indeed, may have received permanent injuries preventing him from being a danger to the public. Recommend research into appropriate case studies in future._

_PS Cathy says hello to you and the girls, and you're all invited to our place next weekend. We've got a few fireworks leftover!_

 

Bucky barely made it into the room before Steve was wrapped around him, practically lifting him off of his feet with his embrace.

“God _damn_ it, I told Tati not to tell you!”

“Shoulda told Lisle the same thing. I could have kissed her,” Steve said, and demonstrated on Bucky.

Bucky tilted his head – which didn't even feel like a stretch anymore, go him – and fell into the kiss, wrapping his good arm around Steve's neck. “It's not even that big a deal...”

“Fuck you, yeah it is.” Steve smiled at him, and kissed him. Then kissed his cheeks, his forehead, his chin, the tip of his nose. “It's a very big deal. You're healing so well, sweetheart. Look at you.”

Bucky smiled unsteadily.

“What is it, Buck?” Steve asked softly, arms protective now. 

“What happens to me when I'm all better?” Bucky blurted out. “We can't stay here forever.”

“No,” Steve admitted. “But we can go back to Brooklyn, make a home there. Make a home anywhere you want to,” he corrected himself.

“SHIELD is just gonna let me waltz outta here, move to Brooklyn Heights with you, and do what I want with my life?” Bucky asked.

“Hell no. You think we can afford Brooklyn Heights?” Steve sobered at Bucky's glare. “No, I don't. But I think we can make them. You're the victim here, Buck. You were a POW. You were tortured and brainwashed, and I will make them see that. I'll make the world see that.” He cupped his hands around Bucky's face, and kissed him, unbelievably lightly. A saint's kiss, bestowing grace, not the usual lover's kiss. “No one is taking us away from each other again.”

That, at least, Bucky could believe. That he could fight for, and he kissed Steve, hard.

They took their time necking, Steve gently nudging Bucky across the floor to the big bed, finally laying him out and crawling in beside him. They undressed each other, unhurried in the soft gray light of a rainy late afternoon. Bucky went to pull Steve in for some more kisses, and made a protesting noise when Steve gently wriggled away, and proceeded to kiss his way down Bucky's body.

James Barnes was not yet entirely okay with this level of body-worship, but God knew Steve loved it. Steve  _actually loved_ nuzzling along Bucky's collarbones. He tasted where skin and metal came together, and kissed the dead metal of Bucky's shoulder. (“You're deep under all of that. And the arm is still a part of you. So I love it.” Yeah, they hadn't made it to dinner the night he came up with  _that_ one.) Those huge stupid hands rubbed his sides and belly while Steve kissed down the middle of his chest, kissed each nipple. His mouth was wet on the scarred one, and he blew softly, the extra sensation cutting through the less-sensitive tissue and making Bucky shiver.

Steve kissed his ribs, still visible. He kissed Bucky's belly, no longer concave, and Bucky gave up and gave in, stroking Steve's hair. He might as well enjoy this, the soft feel of Steve on him, kisses dropped in a line down to his hip. Steve went for his right leg, kissing quick now, a happy line of little touches. Tati and Lisle had helped Bucky take the brace off for the last time today, and he was walking with a perfect gait again. A little strength still to win back, but the hard part was done, the bones healed at last, and Bucky's leg was strong, straight, and perfect, as Steve informed him.

He giggled a little when Steve kissed his knee, and pushed himself to sit up and watch his lover kiss all the way down to his big toe, which got an extra little squeeze.

“You done yet?” Bucky asked, but his voice was warm, all amusement, and Steve gave a noncommittal shrug.

“Good Christ.” He was laughing though, and pulled Steve into a hug. “Hey,” he murmured. “Guess what?”

“Hmm?” Steve had gotten distracted tasting Bucky's ear. His lover was _weird_. Bucky was never giving him up for anything in the world.

Bucky moved Steve's hand over his cock, which had  _definitely_ sat up and taken notice, at least a little bit.

“Oh. _Hello_ ,” Steve murmured, and lightly wrapped his hand around Bucky, half-hard and practically afraid to breathe. “Gonna make you feel so good.” He nudged Bucky to lie back against some pillows, and settled down, head lying on Bucky's hip, hand just starting to stroke.

“Feels good,” Bucky confirmed, and Steve leaned in to just kiss the base.

“ _Really_ good,” Bucky clarified, and grinned when Steve laughed, and darted his tongue out.

“Mmm. Little too much. Flatten your tongue? Oh, oh, like that,” Bucky sighed, his hand resting on Steve's shoulder, just encouraging him. “Steve, you're doing it just right.”

“Got good instruction,” Steve paused to tell him, then went back to kissing, interspersed with long licks with the flat of his tongue. “Still okay, baby?”

“Really okay. Feels nice. Like a backrub in the sun after a good lunch, like summer, like a really good stretch...” Bucky trailed off, but kept his hand on Steve's shoulder, encouraging him. This wouldn't last, and wouldn't end the way Steve deserved, but it was so nice, for right now...

His cock softened, but it took longer than it had last time, and Steve crawled back up Bucky's body and kissed him, and Bucky tasted salt, tasted himself instead of Steve, and smiled.

“We have achieved precome,” he murmured. “Whooooo.”

Steve laughed into his mouth, wrapped his arms around Bucky's body, and rolled them over. “I love you,” he said, and how was  _anyone_ supposed to stand against a voice that warm, saying that?

“You're okay, I guess” he said, and while Steve was cracking up, wrapped his hand around Steve's cock, which definitely did not have the same problem his did. “Hello,” he murmured into Steve's mouth, and started moving his hand, slow and easy, making Steve moan. Making Steve _finally_ stop it with the Adoration of the Bucky, and go weak and helpless, his face buried in Bucky's neck as he moaned and writhed, pressed into Bucky's hand. Bucky drew it out as long as he could, encouraging with little kisses, his hand moved faster, wrist twisting, until he felt warmth, until he heard Steve wail, and then go heavy.

Bucky kissed him, then again, then gently rolled him onto the bed and went to get a washcloth, to clean his hand and Steve's belly.

He came back to find Steve lying there like the cat who got the cream, all sleepy smile and languid body. It had gone dark while they were playing around, and he was pale skin and shadows in the low lamplight.

“Well, hello beautiful,” Bucky said, and came over to the bed, cleaning Steve off. “What're you smiling at?”

“You,” Steve slurred, sounding and looking not a little drunk. “Y'move so easily now. So strong. Y'r filling out and you're healthy and I love you.”

“Love you too,” Bucky managed, and leaned over to kiss Steve, and tossed the washcloth more or less in the direction of his laundry. “Hey, wanna see something cool?”

“Kay,” Steve said, curling up on his side, still with that silly smile.

Bucky sat down tailor-fashion and moved his left arm to lie across his lap. The fingers were just lightly curled. He concentrated, took a deep breath, and straightened them. Then, slowly, curled them up again, just a little.

“Bucky!” Really, he should have expected the explosion of stupid affection this brought on. There was kissing. And hugging. And kissing his metal hand like it wasn't a weapon. And more kissing, and both of them laughing and rolling around on the bed like a bunch of dumb kids.

“You're amazing.” Steve's smile was _obscene_. “You're just...how do you _do_ this?”

“Move my hand? Well, it's very easy Steven, you can do it yourself...”

Steve socked him, and he deserved it.

“Don't you dare say anything else dumb to me,” Bucky said, crawling under the covers and shoving his pillow where he liked it. 

“My lips are sealed.”

“I don't trust you.”

Steve just laughed and crawled in beside Bucky, hitting the light on his way. They fitted together, Steve's head on Bucky's shoulder, and he couldn't help a smile at the way their legs tangled together now, easy and soft and right. He waited a good thirty to forty seconds before shifting his head to whisper “My amazing fella,” in Bucky's ear, and got a smack for his troubles.

 

Later, Steve was grateful they'd fallen asleep early – it meant they got a decent couple of hours in before they were awake again.

It was still dark, and he was dumb from sex and sleep, and it took far, far too long to realize that what had woken him up was Bucky, sat up and clutching his metal arm, making soft animal noises.

“Oh, shit, what is it?” Steve asked, bolting upright.

“ _Hurts_ ,” Bucky managed, and made another of those terrible sounds.

“Oh, baby, no,” Steve breathed, and reached out, wrapping his arm around the metal bicep, trying to comfort.

“No, don't --” but at the first firm touch, Bucky _screamed_.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!
> 
> dietraumerei.tumblr.com


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> one step back -- old friends part ways -- every villain is the hero of his own story -- speaking of stories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While writing this, I had to extend my outline by another chapter. This story is the Xeno's paradox of stories, I swear.

“He's not in pain?” Steve asked softly, sitting by the hospital bed. Bucky wasn't quite unconscious, but he was pretty clearly out of it.

“As far as I can tell, no,” Lisle said, moving a little closer and squeezing his shoulder. “He's pretty well knocked out.”

“What happened?” Steve asked. He put his hand over Lisle's and squeezed in thanks, and gently removed her hand.

“The nerves are regrowing and it's like...you know when your foot falls asleep, and it's pins and needles when it wakes up?”

Steve nodded.

“Like that. But...worse.” She breathed out deeply. “The good news is, we can monitor how the nerve damage is healing. We can make sure he doesn't feel any pain.”

“The bad news being, he has to stay drugged to the gills.” Steve smiled bitterly. “He was doing so _well_.”

“And he will again. This isn't even a set-back, Steve, it's just...a pause. We'll keep him warm and comfortable and get food into him, and Tati can adapt his exercises.” Lisle knelt down to check the laptop monitoring Bucky. “I'll make you up a bed in here, okay? Try to sleep a little if you can.”

Steve snorted.

“All right, martyr. Or not.” Lisle looked up at him, clearly done with his shit, and Steve became painfully aware that she had been wakened in the middle of the night by one terrified super-soldier and one super-soldier in excruciating pain, and she had snapped into action. She had assessed Bucky, calmed them both down, gotten an IV in, figured out what was wrong, consulted with Tony, and was still in her pajamas under the white coat.

Basically, she had better things to do than baby him along.

“I'm sorry,” he mumbled. “Just ignore me. You got better stuff to do.”

“Oh, honey. I will not ignore you,” she said, and stood up, coming close enough for Steve to hug her if he wanted to. “This is hard on you, too. You have a right to be sad, remember?” She smiled and winked. “Besides, now I get my poker buddy back for a few days.”

Steve laughed weakly, just for her. “I'll take care of my own bed, I know where everything is. Go back to sleep.”

“Mmm, in a bit. I need to look over the last set of scans, see if there's something I can target. Maybe make it so we don't have to tranq him totally.” She yawned. “Want me to make coffee for you, too?”

“Er. Please?” Steve flushed, remembering who he was talking to. “No, don't, I can make it for both of us...”

“Steve. Stay here. Keep an eye on Bucky. I'll bring you a cup of coffee as soon as it's done.” Lisle checked one more thing, patted Bucky's shoulder – the not-metal one – and headed for the kitchen.

“I think you're still her favorite,” Steve told Bucky's prone body, and scooted a little closer. He reached out and took his flesh hand, squeezing it lightly. “Hey you. It's okay. Get a lot of sleep, okay?”

Of course, Bucky's eyes cracked open, and he turned his head to face Steve. “Where'm I?”

“You're in New York,” Steve murmured, rubbing his thumb along the back of Bucky's hand. “In the countryside. Remember? You're free of Hydra now.”

Bucky frowned. “The Asset is malfunctioning.”

“Yeah, baby. Your arm is hurting you something awful, that's why you feel so fuzzy.”

“Pre-cryo procedure is _established_. You don't understand.” Bucky closed his eyes and muttered something Steve couldn't quite catch. “I don't know, you don't understand. I don't know.” His old go-to phrases.

“Shh, Bucky, you're safe. You're safe,” Steve tried to soothe, still stroking his hand. “There's no cryo ever again. You're just sleepy.”

Bucky smiled at that. “'s nice. Warm.”

“Good.” Steve smiled at him. Bucky still wasn't all there, but at least he was happy, wherever/whenever he was.

“I like this procedure.” Bucky's smile grew. “You're nice.”

“I'll remind you that you said that when I'm getting on your tits.” Steve leaned over and kissed Bucky's knuckles. “No procedure, baby. Just sleep, okay?”

“The cryo procedure works best when the Asset is calm,” Bucky said in an agreeable voice, and fell asleep.

Steve sat quietly by his bedside, dozing off occasionally and watching him sleep the rest of the time. Lisle brought him coffee, then went back to bed for a few hours; Sam brought him breakfast.

“How's he doing?” he asked quietly, while Steve made short work of the meal.

“He's slept straight through the last few hours, thankfully.” Steve sighed and rubbed his face. “He thought he was still the Asset, when he woke up. Sam, what if everything's undone?”

“What if he was high as a kite on pain and pain meds, and nothing's undone?” Sam countered. “Steve, there's worrying and legitimately being afraid, and then there's borrowing trouble. You'll be there beside him no matter what; let _Bucky_ show you how bad it is, or isn't.”

Steve made a face. “I just wanna be ready for anything.”

“Which isn't a bad tactic – just remember, anything can be good too.” Sam made a face. “Good is what's gonna need action, really. It's not fair to keep him here, and to be honest, we're all gonna start getting a little stir-crazy.”

“Start?” Steve asked dryly. He and Sam's runs had grown longer and longer, and although Steve was still loathe to leave the big house for long, Sam was happy to run into town on nearly any pretext.

“Hah. Any ideas as to what comes next?”

Steve shrugged. “Get an apartment in New York together, if Bucky wants that. Guess I'll return to Avenging.”

“Hmm,” Sam said. “Is that what you want to do?”

“I want to live with Bucky,” Steve said firmly. “I want him in my bed every night he could possibly want to be there. I like New York, and we'll be closer to...to the doctors Bucky might need. We'll be closer to Stark, to everyone.” He smiled a little, very carefully meeting Sam's eyes. “Promise we'll get a guest room, with your name on it.”

Sam chuckled a little. “And I'll think of your dingy little apartment when I get tired of the amenities of Stark Tower and need a little Depression-era home cooking,” he informed Steve. He also made note of the fact that Steve had entirely answered his question without actually answering the important part of it.

“What're you gonna do? Always got a place on the team for you, you know,” Steve assured him.

Sam bowed his head a little in thanks. “I'll remember that. And I'll be there, if you need me. I don't know.” He cocked his head to one side. “My family's in DC. And so's Riley's. I can't leave there entirely.”

“God, Sam, I'd never ask you to --”

“I know,” Sam soothed. “Look, I got some thinking to do too. But don't think you're gonna be rid of me, moving to a different state.”

“Never dreamed of it,” Steve said, and it was so sincere it actually hurt.

Sam missed Bucky's sharp wit with a sudden ache.  _Bucky_ would have said something flat and sarcastic and not made Sam have to feel warm and gloopy and kind of terrified inside. 

He patted Steve's shoulder and stood up to go, pausing to lean over Bucky and adjust one of the sensors. “Hey. Be good to talk to you again, dude.”

Steve's smile, watching the two of them, was wide and sloppy, and Sam gave his shoulder a supportive squeeze before he fled. He'd make it up in pies; there was no rule that said he had to  _always_ be up for emotions.

“Hey handsome,” Steve murmured, smoothing Bucky's hair back. “We're gonna get through this one, too. We're gonna be okay, Buck. No matter what, you got me, and you're gonna be okay.”

Bucky gave a little sigh in his sleep, and turned towards Steve's voice. Steve froze for a moment, strangely afraid that Bucky was waking up, but he was still after that.

 

He finally woke up again mid-morning, blinking sleepily and smiling when he squinted and focused on Steve. “Hey,” he murmured.

“Bucky.” Steve took Bucky's hand and squeezed a little. “You're safe in New York, honey. You're free.”

“I _know_ ,” Bucky mumbled, his smile growing. “Steve, I had the best dream.”

Steve felt an absolutely stupid smile spread across his face. “Aw, Buck. What'd you dream?”

Bucky's eyes, he noticed, were not quite pointing in the same direction. It was  _adorable_ .

“'t was the _best_ ,” Bucky said, slurring a little. “We were walkin' together in a forest, you were carryin' a picnic even though eating outside is messy and dumb. And it was _beautiful_ , and we sat in the sunshine and you kissed me and said you loved me.” He sighed, a big sloppy smile firmly in place. “An' I told you I loved you, and then I could kiss you whenever I wanted, and it was so good. You were so handsome. Used to dream about kissin' you, back before everything, and it was even better for real.”

“So,” Steve said, around the lump in his throat. “I got some good news for you.”

“Unh?”

“Wasn't a dream.” Steve leaned over and kissed Bucky softly on the mouth, then his forehead. “I love you.”

“ _Shiiiit_ ,” Bucky said, and Steve almost fell off of his chair from laughing.

 

“You goin', honey?” Bucky asked. He was still well-drugged, the pain coming back in waves whenever the dosage was reduced, but at least he was awake. Mostly.

“Duty calls,” Nat said simply, and leaned over to hug Bucky goodbye. “I'll visit again when I can.”

“Please?” Bucky's smile was wonky, but sweet. “Or I can come to you. When all this is over...think I'm going back to New York. Don't be a stranger?”

“I won't,” she promised, and smiled. “Like I'd give up the chance to make Steve look like he's dying of jealousy, and has to find a priest to confess this worst of sins.”

Bucky giggled. “Be nice to my Stevie. But yeah, that too.”

“Be well, Bucky,” was all Nat said, and kissed him on the forehead. “Take care of our Steve, okay?”

“Promise,” he murmured, his eyes drifting shut again. 

Nat pulled the light blanket over him, and smoothed it, before leaving the room.

 

Brady let himself into his study and breathed a sigh of relief. Two weeks off – he wouldn't need that much time, he hoped. But all the hours in the day to devote to the Project; that would be bliss.

He kept the curtains closed now, just in case. Wouldn't do for anyone to see; those who were too blind to the truth were everywhere. Believing that sword really could be beaten into a plough, when the world didn't work that way.

Brady's wall was nearly complete; there was just a little more research to do. A few old county maps to consult, and he would be done. The pages and photos made a beautiful kaleidoscope; nothing so balanced and perfect could be wrong. That was...what was it called? One of those things that held true across cultures. Patterns were good, putting the universe back into alignment was good, and the pattern was sweet. A multi-armed spiral that made up evidence, judge and jury, the image of the Soldier at the center of it. Everyone he had killed or harmed curving out, with one arm reserved especially for poor James Buchanan Barnes. His family, his descendants, were few and would be easily protected. Brady had thought of them first; they deserved a good life, after their ancestor had given his for his country.

Brady smiled dreamily, tracing the lines across the wall, of death and change and a weapon let loose on history. Soon, _so_ soon, he could begin the final fight. He hoped he could be the one to commit the killing blow; to save Captain America and the world, to let the ghost of James Barnes free to pass into unsullied memory. The beautiful patterns on the wall would show him how, and his friends, so many friends, would be avenged.

 

“Hey Buck,” Steve said, leaning over the bed for a kiss. “How you feeling?”

Bucky's smile was only a little dreamy now. “Okay. My arm hurts, but it's better.”

“That's really great.” Steve gave him another kiss, then another, until they were properly necking; until he'd hauled his lover upright and they were wrapped around each other, careful of the metal arm but grabbing what pleasure they could.

“How was walking the land?” Bucky asked, when they took a break – some time later – and Steve stretched out beside him, head on Bucky's belly. It had started to round out right after meals, and Steve was basically hopelessly in love with this additional sign of health.

“Nice.” Steve kissed his stomach through the thin t-shirt, and nuzzled a little to make Bucky giggle. “I gotta weed the garden later, though, it's like fucking Day of the Triffids out there.”

“It's like _what_?”

Steve laughed. “I'll add it to our reading list.”

“Speaking of...”

Steve hugged Bucky around the waist because he could. His lover wasn't drugged anymore, was in pain but it was fading, and would have use of both arms soon. Would be strong and healthy so soon. “Okay, but you can't fall asleep ten minutes in this time.”

“I wouldn't fall asleep if you did voices,” Bucky pointed out, in his most reasonable tone.

Steve rolled his eyes and grabbed Bucky's iPad, lying down beside him and propping it up against his knees. He opened  _A Wrinkle in_ Time  where they had left off.

Staying awake rapidly stopped being a problem; the facts that Steve started reading aloud too quickly, and that he was going to have to weed the garden after dinner _did_. They followed Meg back to Camazotz, and Bucky was peering over Steve's shoulder, able to catch a word here and there, the two of them enthralled.

“Love,” Steve read out loud. “That was what she had that IT did not have. She had Mrs. Whatsit's love, and her father's, and her mother's, and the real Charles Wallace's love, and the twins', and Aunt Beast's. And she had her love for them. But how could she use it? What was she meant to do?”

Bucky actually gasped when Meg pulled Charles Wallace away from the influence of IT, and Steve's voice was definitely shaky as he read the words. “Now she was even able to look at him, at this animated thing that was not her own Charles Wallace at all. She was able to look and love. I love you. Charles Wallace, you are my darling and my dear and the light of my life and the treasure of my heart. I love you. I love you. I love you.”

They finished the book pressed together; allowed to be curious, innocent boys for a few hours, hearing the story of how Meg Murray freed her brother and her father because she could love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading!
> 
> dietraumerei.tumblr.com
> 
> editing to add this in the hopes that it will trigger one of those 'X posted a chapter in Y', because that didn't before, yaaaaargh.


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> planning for a future -- Bucky's gotta gun -- ain't gonna study war no more

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short one this time! 
> 
> NOTE: The notification for the last chapter never seems to have gone out, so many of you may be getting a twofer today...

“I want to take you to France.” Steve pushed Bucky's shirt up to kiss his belly. “Paris, then south.”

Bucky giggled. “Why France?”

“It's beautiful now. It's so beautiful – you'd never know two wars were fought there, Buck.” Steve kissed his soft stomach again. “It's so nice.”

“I want to go to Germany, too,” Bucky said dreamily. “I want to see the forests. I want to see Thuringia, where Bach was born – for Mom.”

“It's beautiful there, too. One of the best places in the world to live,” Steve told him, and pushed the shirt up a little higher, kissing the tiny knob of bone that started Bucky's breastbone. “I want to take you to....to the Grand Canyon.”

“Like we always talked about,” Bucky said, his voice breathy. “I want to go there, too.”

“I want to take you home,” Steve said, resting his head on Bucky's chest and gazing up at him. “I want to get a little apartment in Brooklyn, or Queens, or way out in Rockaway so we can be on the water. I want a bedroom that looks out onto trees, and bed just big enough for the two of us. A little kitchen where the oven has a trick to it to make it work, and you can hear the heat rattling all winter.”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, his voice raw as he hauled Steve up his chest to kiss him. “That sounds like a good home, Stevie.”

 

“I call her Vera,” Sarah said, handing Bucky the locked carry-case.

“Oh my God, you do not. I've seen that episode of _Firefly_ ,” Bucky told her, and Sarah made an 'awww' sound. “Nice try,” he offered.

“I know we all know better than to anthropomorphize our weapons, but still,” she said, a little sadly.

Sam merely sighed and tossed Bucky a set of ear protectors. “You are all disappointing and boring.”

“Go hang out with Tony Stark for a week, then come tell me that,” Sarah said.

Sam made an obnoxious face at her, then grinned, because he was a charming bastard like that. Bucky was taking notes. “I actually am  going to see him ,” he admitted, while Bucky put off unlocking the case as long as possible.

(What if he'd lost his knack for shooting? He was already nigh-useless. Protecting Steve's back – and his front, and every other part of him because the guy had the situational awareness of a pebble – was what he  _did_ . How he justified...everything.)

“He's, uh. Made me a new set of wings,” Sam admitted. “And I've got family and stuff to check in on, you know?”

“Sam, you're not a prisoner here, I _know_ ,” Sarah said, clearly bemused. “Go hang out with Stark for a week or whatever, fly your ass off, and go hug your mother from all of us. You're always welcome back here.”

“Thanks. Promise I'll leave Stark in one piece. Basically.”

Bucky shared a grin with Sam. “Hey,” he said suddenly. “I'm glad you're getting your wings back.” He and Sam had talked, a little, about the whole trying-to-kill-each-other thing, and how awkward it was. Because it  _was_ ; moreso now that Bucky was recovering and strong and healthy, and looked more like the killing machine and less like a raggedy-assed excuse for a human being. 

“Thanks man, me too.”

Bucky turned back to the gun case and got it open finally. A nice, simple handgun. Cleaned and oiled to perfection, of course, he loaded it almost automatically.

Why was he breathing so carefully? Well, it had been awhile. He felt fine, really.

Bucky slipped on the ear defenders and set up in front of one of the targets. He was breathing deeply, consciously now. Of course he'd be a little off the first time; it had been weeks since he'd handled a gun. His left arm wasn't 100% yet, although it was strong enough to cup under the handgrip.  He couldn't expect to hit the target perfectly the first time. Or even the tenth, maybe. This was just warming up.

“You okay?” Sam asked. “You're kinda pale.”

Bucky winked at him. “Not gettin' as much sun lately. Take it up with my boyfriend.”

While Sam was howling about how gross Bucky was, he moved into the easiest, strongest stance he could, and took aim.

_Snow – trees – hot summer sun in Rome – barren plains – the smell of coffee in the air_

Bucky blinked, shaking off the memories. They had never gone away, why were they coming back now?

_a little girl laughing – hotwiring a Trabant – hotwiring a car that_ didn't _suck_

Bucky shook his head a little, chasing the ghosts away. Nothing had even touched him, when he was shooting – not cold, or leg cramps, boredom or memories. It was him, the gun, a dreamlike state. Always.

He aimed again, took the safety off, took a deep breath, and squeezed the trigger as he breathed out.

_little girl screaming – blood – life leaving a man's eyes – so many dead bodies a pile of them – a scream for mercy – his left fist punching, breaking bone – the crunch under his hand – a body picked over by vultures – the feel of a breaking neck – a baby crying_

Bucky howled; some instinct in him got the safety onto the gun, let him put it down safely while he collapsed to his knees, shoving  it away, push it away hard no no no no I have killed  _so many people_ I never wanted to I was never supposed to I can't, please don't ask me to kill again please no, I can't kill again, I'll be in Hell forever with all the deaths on my soul.

He was weeping, drowning in memories, Sam right in front of him soothing, and Bucky pushed him away so when he vomited, it wouldn't get on him. And when he passed out, it was only the floor that caught him.

 

“I'm not handling a gun again, so don't ask me,” was the first thing he said when he came to. “Or a knife, or any other weapon. I'm done with _being_ a weapon.”

“Okay,” Lisle said. “Hold this to your forehead – yeah. Feel better?”

Bucky winced at the icepack. “Relative to...?”

“Hah.” Lisle stroked his hair, and he sighed, closing his eyes. “Relative to...how you felt yesterday morning.”

“Then no, don't really feel better. The ice helps though, thanks.” Bucky winced. “Where's Steve?”

“Hyperventilating out in the corridor until he can be trusted to behave,” Lisle said primly.

“Dr. Van Nuys, I would bear your children if I could,” Bucky said seriously, and she laughed and squeezed his shoulder.

“I'd consider letting you, maybe,” she teased. “Seriously, Steve freaking out is the last thing you need. Or I need. Or Steve needs. Sam's helping him work through it,” she assured him. “And Sarah had everything cleaned up and was on the phone to your therapist before you even got up here.” She smiled softly at him. “No one will ever make you fight again, Bucky. Ever. Your life is your own.”

“I've killed so many people, Lisle,” Bucky said, his voice hollow with it all. “I remember what all of them look like. There are _so many_.”

“It wasn't your fault. You were brainwashed. It's not your sin,” she said gently.

“But I still did it. I still remember them all. I'm still...bearing witness. And it was still my hands, my body.” Bucky looked sick. “No one got hurt in the shooting range, right?”

“You've got a helluva goose egg on your forehead,” Lisle said. “But no one else was hurt, Bucky, I promise.”

Bucky nodded. He had figured out that _he_ was the reason Lisle had had a black eye when he first woke up, and had been sick with guilt for a week until she'd hugged him and let him make her breakfast and make her a bouquet of roses and lavender from the garden. (And – although she didn't know it yet – get Stark to promise to send some very high-end equipment to her as soon as he could get it out the door.) That guilt-sickness should have been the first clue that fighting was...not a thing he could do. Ever.

“I can't do it,” he said sadly. “But they'll make me. I don't get happy endings.”

“Yes you do,” she said sharply. “I did, and you will, Bucky. No one will make you fight again, ever.”

Bucky smiled at her without it reaching his eyes, but she didn't push.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Holy shit, nearly at the end of this installment!


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> at swim, two men -- farewells and food -- visitors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The penultimate chapter!
> 
> I should note -- this has turned into a two-story series. The next book will be quite different from this one, but tell the same through-line story, if that makes sense.
> 
> I've already begun it, by the way, so there shouldn't be more than a week between the end of this story and the start of the sequel.

They walked out to the far side of the lake, following the directions Tati had written out for them. There was a grassy little depression that did make a nice place to settle, right on the edge of the clear water. Lunch first after their long hike, with Bucky still not entirely clear on why picnics were a thing sensible people did.

(Steve shoved a cookie in his mouth mid-rant, and Bucky glared at him. “You know,” he said, after he'd chewed and swallowed. “Elite soldiers who had been trained to no longer feel fear used to quail if I glared at them.”

“That's nice, honey,” Steve said, and gave him another cookie.)

After lunch they swam, both of them stripping down to their skivvies and diving in. Bucky started in by chasing Steve through the waist-high water, and yelped when Steve got his revenge with a ducking. Then it was Steve's turn to chase, and Bucky pushed himself through the water, long legs pushing off of the hard dirt bottom, his arms pulling through the water. Steve swam at his heels, the two of them perfectly matched in speed and strength.

Bucky dove deep once they were past the drop-off, and the cold water closed around him, shutting out the sound of the world, the sunlight dimmer even just a few feet down. He shimmied through the water, hair streaming out, and arced up, breathed, and dove again. Steve had mostly stopped trying to catch him, and they dove down together and kissed in the water.

He followed Steve through the still, quiet world, the two of them swimming around a submerged tree stump, towards a rocky little islet. They didn't need to breathe but every few minutes, and mostly stayed well under the water's surface, both of them liking the strange, silent world of the lake.

It was Bucky who found the hand- and foot-holds in the rock, hauling himself up over the slippery boulders to the wide, flat surface that made up the top of the tiny almost-island. The rock burned in the sunlight, but felt good after the cold of the lake and they lay down together, sunning like cats.

His tummy nicely baked, Bucky rolled over and lay facedown on the hot, gritty rock, feeling his limbs stretch long, muscle wrapping around bone, tense and relax. He smiled, feeling Steve trail a fingertip up his spine, lingering a little where the bones in his neck had been fractured. His boyfriend was such a doofus, and he told him so.

“You're gorgeous,” Steve said in that apple-pie honest way he had, and Bucky rolled over again and pulled Steve down for a kiss. They rolled around a little, making out messily, mouths open and wet and hungry. Bucky wound up on his back, legs around Steve's waist as he kissed his way down Bucky's chest, suckling at his nipples, grunting his approval when Bucky started to roll his hips. He kissed scars and smooth skin alike, laughing when Bucky's legs tightened around him.

“Quick, Steve, _now_. _Please_ ,” Bucky begged, and moaned when Steve tugged down the waist of his undershorts and took Bucky's cock in his mouth. Bucky rolled his hips, moaned, arched his back, and although he couldn't, quite, last long enough to come, he was left gasping for breath, and made a quiet sound of pleasure when he looked down to see his soft cock still in Steve's mouth, Steve's eyes closed in ecstasy.

“Oh, baby,” Bucky breathed, and traced a metal fingertip along Steve's cheek. “Get up here for me. That's my baby, that's my Stevie.”

“I underwent a dangerous, painful process, so far totally unrepeatable, to become the best soldier in the world,” Steve informed him with a grin. “Not to be your baby.”

“Whatever you say, baby.” Bucky cackled at the look on Steve's face, and kissed him, and decided it was time for a treat – and reached into Steve's shorts with his left hand, wrapping it around his cock.

“Holy _shit_ ,” was the last thing Steve managed to say for quite awhile, as Bucky showed him just how dextrous he was, after time and healing and a little practice. He worked his hand and wrist, the metal plates so fine as to feel almost fabric-like, the hardness of his hand contrasting with how soft and gentle his mouth was, as he kissed Steve in a slow, sweet counterpoint to jacking him off.

Steve came with a beautiful wail, the orgasm long and drawn-out and gorgeous. Bucky kissed him down, and they caught their breaths together in the heavy summer sunlight.

They went for a quick swim to clean off, then climbed back onto the rock and dozed together, lying next to each other but not touching, soaking up the summer heat and the rock and the water and everything around them.

The sun arced towards the horizon, the light becoming lower and more golden, and Bucky rolled onto his side to watch Steve. His skin was golden, his hair nearly white-blond. His body was perfect, of course; it always was, now. A finely-drawn face, but with a smile around his lips that Bucky hadn't seen nearly enough of, before these most recent days. He leaned over and kissed Steve, and Steve opened his eyes and smiled at him.

“It's time to go home,” Bucky said.

“Yeah,” Steve agreed, and they both knew Bucky didn't mean the big house.

 

“Why in God's name would I want to see the world's largest ball of string?” Bucky asked.

Tati prodded the burgers on the grill. “Because it's Americana! C'mon, you guys are like America personified.”

“I'm the literal embodiment of the military-industrial complex, so think hard about that one,” Steve advised.

“I spent years as the brainwashed plaything of the Soviets, how is that America?” Bucky asked simultaneously.

“I loathe you both,” Tati said.

“Be nice to the old men, dear, they don't know what they're missing,” Sarah said, bringing out a tray of lettuce and sliced tomatoes. “Bucky, go make sure Lisle doesn't eat all the cheese before she's finished slicing it please?”

“Hell yeah, if I look pathetic enough, I get cheese,” Bucky said happily, heading for the kitchen.

“ _You're_ un-American,” Tati accused. “Cheese on burgers for a cookout should come in pre-molded slices and require unwrapping, not your surrender-monkey slicing.”

“I am begging you to never explain any part of that to me,” Steve told Sarah seriously. So Tati tried to punch his arm.

“Ow?” he offered, while she rubbed her knuckles, and they made faces at one another.

Bucky and Lisle reappeared then, both of them having stolen enough to please themselves, and with more than enough left over for the burgers.

Steve and Bucky set the table outside, the early evening breeze bringing the smell of lavender, the fullness of summer that just barely began to hint at autumn's arrival. It was a week since Bucky had decided it was time to leave, and they were nearly all packed, ready to go back to New York City the next day. They had opted for the simplest of Nat and Sarah's extraction plans – to drive back to the city like any person would, hiding in plain sight. Nat had even offered up one of her hiding places; a little apartment on a quiet street in Crown Heights. It would be a good place to start living in the world again, low-key and discreet and...normal. Peaceful.

The burgers took a little bit longer over the coals, but dinner was ready soon enough; beer and cheeseburgers and sweet corn on the cob, cooked on the grill and slathered in butter. There was silence at first as they all ate hungrily, sharing in the meal they'd cooked together, cheerfully getting in each others' ways.

“I've barely had a chance to talk to you all week,” Sarah said, when they were on seconds and thus could pause between bites. “You got any plans for when you're back in the city, Buck?”

He shrugged. “Honestly, it looks like it'll be therapy for most of the day at first,” he admitted, and grinned at Tati. “Including a once-a-week PT consult, so you guys aren't entirely rid of me yet. I've got a lot of intensive talk therapy too, the usual stuff.” He shrugged. “I wanna go to the library. Walk around the neighborhood. I got a lot to learn,” he admitted softly.

“Yeah. Hey, we're always here, hon,” Sarah said. “You both have full run of the place. Come back whenever you want, even just for a weekend.”

“We will,” Steve promised, and looked over at Bucky with a smile. “I know none of you can get away from here often, but we got room for an air mattress in this place, and I'll make sure we get a couch nice enough to sleep on.”

“Not to start picking over the bodies of the dead or anything,” Tati said. “But can I have your duvet? It's nicer than mine.”

Bucky cracked up. “Jesus, wait 'til my corpse is cold at least. Yes, you can, Generalissima.” He gave her a filthy smile. “Maybe wash it first, though.”

Tati shrieked and tried to hide under the table, and Steve looked like he was about to die on the spot, and Lisle sighed and Sarah gave them all a withering look. It was a standard dinner scene, and Bucky tucked it away in his memory, wrapping the feeling of family and good food and people he loved around him.

 

Half a mile away at the gate, Agent Brady pulled up to the barrier and turned off the SUV. Three women, a half-dead super-soldier and Captain America? They wouldn't need more than their wits, and their righteous cause.

He frowned when the gate wouldn't open, and shot at the lock. It still refused to give way, and the trees around the long drive seemed to crowd down around them. Didn't they take care of the place any? The agent who was fiddling with the mechanism was practically enveloped in branches, and had to keep shoving leaves out of the way.

“Fuck that,” Brady said. “Get the battering ram.”

“Sir, it doesn't make sense, the locks isn't much beyond what you'd find on a farmer's front gate,” the agent said, bewildered. “Are we in the right place? Are they really keeping the Soldier here?”

“We are, and they are,” Brady said, tight-lipped with anger. “As though this was safe enough to hold it.”

The agent contemplated pointing out that so far they hadn't made it past the front gate, but opted not to, in light of the look in his team lead's eyes. Brady had rounded them all up that afternoon, explaining that it was time to capture the Soldier, with lethal force if necessary, and they had suited up and been underway within the hour. The plan was a new one; nothing he'd seen before, but it seemed relatively simple.

With all of them working together, they finally got the hinges off and shoved the gate open enough, pushing against a sudden pile of earth on the other side. They were just about able to squeeze through, one by one, although the raspberry brambles on the other side were a bitch to get through.

“Do they have another entrance?” Shelby whispered to Peterson. “This one looks like it hasn't been used in years. Look how overgrown the road is.”

“According to satellite, this is the only once. And they come and go pretty often,” Peterson whispered back. “I don't get it either. This place is creepy.”

“November formation,” Brady said. “Move. We need to take the house before the Soldier realizes what's happening and can escape.”

They set off down the muddy road, tripping over tree roots and brushing away flies, and headed for the big house that glowed in the early evening light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I looooove youuuuuuu.
> 
> dietraumerei.tumblr.com


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An ending, but not the ending

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhh, we made it! Holy shit guys, it's done! (ish)
> 
> PLEASE READ: The next story will follow directly off of this one and the first chapter will be posted in the next two to three days. THIS IS INFORMATION YOU WILL WANT WHEN YOU GET TO THE END.

Bucky was doing dishes when his teeth started to feel itchy.

“Something's wrong,” Lisle said, drying her hands and going to the window.

“Perimeter breach,” Sarah said suddenly, turning to face the main road. “Into the panic room, all of you.”

“I'm not leaving you behind,” Steve said hotly.

“I wasn't suggesting that you do,” Sarah informed him. She reached into the pantry, low and behind the door, and pulled out a handgun. “Steve, grab your shield, you take tail, I have point.”

Steve did as commanded and they left the dishes, moving through the house silently. Bucky's heart pounded, and he tried to stay between Tati and Lisle and any windows. One advantage of filling out; he was broad in the shoulders, and could provide at least some cover.

The summer kitchen was at the far wing of the house, though, and the entrance to the basement just off the main reception room where Steve had been cautiously welcomed only a few months before. Sarah entered the big room slowly, and Bucky and Steve moved immediately to stand just behind her when the STRIKE team hit the room the same time they did.

“Get out,” Sarah growled, raising the gun. “You shouldn't be here.”

A man with wild eyes stepped forward. “We're not going to hurt you,” he said in a reasonable voice. “That's why the land let me on. I don't want to hurt any of you. We're here to  _protect_ you, Agent. I've come for the Soldier, is all.”

“ _You can't have him_ ,” Sarah and Steve said in unison, and Sarah took another step forward.

“You're acting against SHIELD orders,” she accused. “Sergeant Barnes is no danger to you or anyone, and he is free to come and go as he pleases. _You_ are trespassing, and will leave now. I have fiat here, and I order you to go.”

The man looked at her with deep pity, and no one on the rest of the team even blinked. None of them lowered their weapons, either. Interesting.

“Sergeant Barnes died in the Alps in 1944,” the man said soothingly. “You have a weapon here, nothing more.”

“You don't know what the fuck you're talking about,” Steve said hotly, and took a step forward.

“My name is _Bucky_ , and I'm not a weapon,” Bucky said, soft but clear, and the man's head snapped around to look at him.

“ _You're_ the Soldier?” he said, voice a little bit amazed.

“He's a private citizen, and you will _leave now_ , for God's sake,” Sarah said, her voice quiet with fury. “I will have you thrown out of SHIELD, Brady. I know who you are. You're _obsessed_ , and I cannot believe that none of the dumbasses there realized how insane you are.”

Brady's face transformed in rage. “You can't have me thrown out,” he snarled. “I will have the Soldier. He's fooled you too.” And he reached for his sidearm and fired twice in rapid succession.

Sarah screamed and went down, hands clutching at her knee – or, what had been her knee, Bucky noted with the part of his brain that didn't feel things.

Bucky reached down and in a single motion picked up the gun she had dropped, raised it, and fired, hitting the agent between the eyes. The man was, of course, dead before he hit the ground. Bucky always did very good, very neat work.

Everything sped up around him, then. Steve rushed forward, poised to use his shield as a weapon, but the agents around Brady didn't seem to be doing anything other than standing there. Bucky wondered bitterly for a moment if their orders hadn't included this scenario. Lisle and Tati shoved Bucky out of the way to lean over Sarah, Tati quickly rising and running for the supplies Lisle yelled after her. Bucky heard what she said, but refused to remember; they were not things meant for a minor injury. He moved to fight beside Steve, numb to every part of himself but subduing the agents, tying their hands behind their backs.

“We have to leave,” Lisle said. “There's more on the land, can't you feel it?”

Bucky nodded. His teeth itched still, and everything felt wrong; the barrier had been breached and it was his fault. He went to get a stretcher and came back to find Sarah unconscious, Tati and Lisle working side-by-side. He didn't look at her leg.

“They'll have transport at the front gate we can use,” Steve was saying, and Bucky blocked the world out again, blocked out the noise and the smell of gunpowder, and the death to his name. He couldn't hear much, as he helped the women move Sarah onto the stretcher, he and Steve carrying her out to the road. The path was smooth, easy to run on, and the trees seeming to draw back and clear the way. The gate was wide open when they got there and a big van was parked behind an SUV, it's door open and keys visible.

Steve's phone went off and Bucky answered it, useless for anything else.

“I'm coming. ETA fifteen,” Nat said. “Iron Man and War Machine in five. We found out about Brady." She paused. "Too late. Asleep at the wheel."  


“Sarah's hurt badly,” Bucky said. That was the only important thing at the moment.  


“Tell them to take her to the county hospital, they can take care of her fastest there. There's another team onsite, a bigger one.”

“I killed the man who wanted me,” Bucky said.

“That's not adding to your ledger,” Nat said, and hung up.

Bucky reported what she'd said (everything but what she said about his ledger, that is), and watched the women drive away, the road smoothing before them. The trees really did pull back, he noticed. The land really did respond. There were already brambles behind him and Steve, creating a barrier around them.

“They're behind us, then,” he said, but far too late as they turned, and scattered men came together in the landscape, tripping over rocks and fighting through vines that tried to hold them.

Land can only do so much, though, and Bucky picked up Steve's fallen shield, raising it over them.

“You guys miss me?” Iron Man asked, his voice coming loudly from Steve and Bucky's phones, and he streaked into sight, War Machine just behind him. “Falcon's right behind us. I tell you, wings may look impressive, but they're not great for speed.”

“Man, shut up and do your job,” Sam said, and Bucky almost let himself feel relief as armored men flew above him and jolts of energy to the earth sent the STRIKE team to their knees. He thought he saw the land ripple, helping the shots from above.

Steve stood up and ran through the wall that had come up between them, the spiny stalks retreating before him. “Jones! Rocky! You don't gotta do this – it's not real orders. It's not SHIELD,” he yelled. “Just stay down, and don't shoot!”

“Rogers, you fuckin' dumbass, they were sent here to shoot us,” Bucky hollered, running after him, because God forbid Steve Rogers remember his shield or not be a moron for two contiguous minutes.

“Steve, get down,” Rhodey roared, as a previously-unseen agent appeared, coming from the north where the rest had appeared in the west, and Bucky ran faster, too slow to get between Steve and the raised gun, too slow even to throw the shield, but with more than enough time to run to Steve as red wounds blossomed across his body, staining the light t-shirt and shorts he was wearing.

“Stop. Shooting. Cap. _Now_!” Tony roared, and targeted pressure waves hit the ground, knocking out all the SHIELD agents. Bucky felt his ears pop, felt the trickle of blood from his nose and ear canals, and ran, throwing himself down beside Steve.

“No, no, no, no, no...” Steve's breathing was already shallow, and he was bleeding freely from at least half of the bullet holes. His thigh, his belly, his shoulder – they were the worst, but his arm too and his side, and one that must have grazed his head, the way the cut there was flowing.

“Sam,” Bucky screamed, hoping whatever it was about their phones that let them hear the men in the air worked both ways. “Sam, Steve needs you, _now_.”

“Shit,” he heard Sam say, and War Machine landed beside them, the helmet retracting as he knelt down beside Bucky. 

“Shit, fuck, shit,” was his contribution. He retracted the armor covering his hands. “Bucky, give me your shirt, we can try to stanch the worst of it. Steve's tough; we just gotta get him to make it to the Quinjet.

Bucky pulled his shirt off immediately, then returned to pressing his hands against the worst of the wounds, slowing the bleeding, but still feeling it trickle between his fingers.

Steve stirred when Rhodey touched him, and smiled when he felt Tony land. “Hey,” he breathed.

“Shh, don't talk,” Bucky said, leaning over to kiss his forehead, afraid to move his hands. “Don't move, Steve. Sam's coming, he'll know what to do.”

Steve smiled at him, dazed-looking. “You and him take care of each other.”

“Him and me and you too,” Bucky said. “You're not goin' anywhere, Steve.”

“Got a lot of holes in me,” Steve observed.

“You're not dying. You can't die,” Bucky told him, his voice low and rough and rocky. “You're all I got left.” I don't get to not kill people. I don't get to not see blood, to feel someone die. I don't get to have people I love not get hurt for me. I'm a weapon again, a claim to be won, and I was stupid to ever think I wouldn't have to do this again. So stupid, to think peace was for me. He didn't say this, because that would mean it was true, and all he'd ever have was fighting and killing.

Sam landed lightly beside him, and pressed his fingers to Steve's pulse-point. “Nat, get the Quinjet here,  _now_ ,” he said grimly. “And tell Ramanujan to prep for surgery. I can get him back to the Tower, at least. We'll need transfusions.”

He looked at Bucky, and touched his shoulder. “The best assassin in the world couldn't take him out,” he said quietly. “Some mook with shitty aim won't either.”

“Sam, you're not helping,” Bucky said desperately, but he smiled. Sam was... _Sam_.

The Quinjet landed; Steve had long ago passed out and Bucky wrenched himself away so that Sam and Rhodey could get him loaded. He followed behind, automatically picking up Steve's shield and sliding it onto his arm, following the little procession up the ramp. He followed as far as he could, Sam taking Steve into the tiny medbay – hardly more than a closet, and certainly without enough room for Bucky – and dropped into a seat.

Bucky drew up his knees and rested his arms around them, hiding behind the vibranium shield that was everything right now. It was the part of Steve he could have with him; he couldn't hurt this thing, at least. He rested his head on his knees, his arms sticky with Steve's blood and his face streaked with his own, and felt the jet accelerate, heading towards the Tower. 

Bucky stayed there, and thought about the man he had killed (had he really thought he'd be able to stop killing?). He thought about Steve dying and Sarah hurt. He thought about Lisle and Tati, who'd had to flee from their home. He thought about the land that had helped him heal, that he'd napped on and walked and that had tried to protect him. He thought about the feel of blood drying on his hands, and how Brady's eyes had looked when the life went out of them.

And then Bucky was quiet, waiting for what would come next. Because something always came next; there was no stop, no peace, no rest, not really. There was always  _next_ .

 

End Part One

The story will conclude in  _And At Last I Am Free_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for being interested in my telling of Bucky's physical healing. Now for all of the other healing....
> 
> If you want to know when the next story is posted, I've set up a series page and you can subscribe there, or track the tag 'fic: and at last i am free' on Tumblr. Or, of course, follow me on Tumblr at dietraumerei.tumblr.com -- I post links there as soon as I update/add stories. I promise, the first chapter of the next story is written, and I've even got broad story beats planned out! (A total unknown for me, I might add.) And, hilariously, I've had the final chapter of the story written for a good few months now.
> 
> Thank you all for reading, for your comments and kudos -- this has been a really ambitious story for me (ewww I had to write action scenes EWWWW), and I really appreciate your support!


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